Chapter 27

Brogan knocked on the partially closed door to Stabe’s office. At his invitation to come in, Brogan and Seth entered the office.

“Do you have the affidavit from the Reynolds case?” Stabe asked without looking up from the file on his desk.

“No,” Brogan said as he and Seth approached the man. Remains of the Stabe’s lunch spread across one corner of the desk, while a large fountain drink sat sweating on the opposite side.

Stabe whipped his head up. “You’re not Tom. Who are you and how did you get in here?”

Brogan extended his hand while ignoring the last part of the question. “I’m Brogan Gilmore, and this is Seth Whitman. We’re with the Northern Virginia Herald.”

Stabe shook Brogan’s hand, his grip soft. While the man clasped Seth’s hand, Brogan studied him, judging his age to be mid-forties. Compared to a photo taken during Melender’s trial, he’d put on considerable weight. Puffy flesh surrounded his brown eyes.

“We have a few questions about the Jesse Thompson case.” Brogan took one of the two chairs situated in front of the desk, motioning Seth to the other one.

“That’s been over a long time.” Stabe sank back into his chair.

Not surprised by his evasive answer, Brogan pulled out his phone. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”

“Yes, I do mind.” Stabe’s gaze travelled to Seth, then back to Brogan. “In fact, I’m very busy, and I don’t have time for unannounced visitors. So if you’ll please—”

“This will only take a minute.” Brogan didn’t budge, deciding to come out swinging to see if he could rattle the other man’s composure. “I read through the trial transcript, and I’ve got to say, you didn’t put up much of a defense for your client.”

Stabe raised his eyebrows but didn’t rise to the bait. “The evidence overwhelmingly pointed to Melender Harman’s guilt in the matter.”

“It was mostly based on witness testimony, wasn’t it? There was no forensic evidence tying Melender to the disappearance at all.”

“Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to imply. I did my job.” Stabe pointed his finger at Brogan. “I got the death penalty off the table.”

Brogan shook his head. “According to the district attorney’s office, the death penalty wasn’t even considered in this case, given there wasn’t a body.”

Stabe shifted his gaze away from Brogan. “I did the best I could given the case I was handed.” He stood. “It’s time for you two to leave.”

Brogan remained seated, keeping his temper in check at the man’s obtuseness. “You hardly questioned witnesses, and you certainly didn’t put forth a compelling reason as to why your client was innocent.” He no longer tried to hide his contempt. “In short, you made it every easy for the prosecution to win.”

“You think it’s easy defending someone accused of murder?” Stabe asked in a tight voice. “Leave my office. Now.”

Brogan rose, making a show of glancing around the office. “This is quite the cushy job. How exactly did you get it, being that you were a defense attorney before?”

Stabe shrugged, but the gesture was anything but nonchalant, given the tenseness in his shoulders. “That wasn’t a good fit for me, so I made a change after a couple of years.” Stabe picked up his office phone. “I’m calling security.”

Brogan held up his hands as Seth moved to the door. “We’re going.” At the door, Brogan turned back to Stabe, who stood with his arms crossed. “One more thing. I find it very coincidental that this firm represents the interests of Thompson Energy.”

Brogan closed the door sharply behind them before Stabe could utter another word. He and Seth walked across the parking lot in silence. Brogan unlocked the doors to his SUV. “That went rather well, don’t you think?”

“I don’t see what we’ve gained.” Seth buckled his seatbelt.

“He’s the weakest link. With any luck, he’ll get in touch with the people who paid him to throw the murder trial.” Brogan put the car into gear.

“Wait a minute, you think Quentin Thompson is involved in his own son’s death?”

“I believe Quentin Thompson willingly allowed Melender Harman to take the blame for Jesse’s disappearance,” Brogan corrected. “I’m not saying he had anything to do with Jesse’s death.”

“What’s our next move?”

“We’re going to see someone who might be willing after all this time to finally tell the truth.”

* * *

Jillian’s revelationsthat she’d seen a man bending over Jesse’s crib in the middle of the night revved Melender’s internal engine as questions flooded her mind. Had Jared given Jesse Tylenol or something more sinister to shut him up? Who was the man bending over Jesse’s crib in the middle of the night? Was Jillian remembering the evening accurately, or was this all the mixed up emotions of a three-year-old trying to process the loss of her baby brother?

Melender pulled into the parking lot at work. At least her cleaning clients didn’t require a lot of brain power, so she’d have plenty of time to think through the possibilities. Hurrying toward the office, she passed the alcove that housed the dumpsters and recycle bins for the building. A man stepped out of the shadows and into her path, his stance taut.

Menace poured off of him like he’d put on too much cologne. With her chin high, she moved to the left to let the man pass. As she’d anticipated, he moved with her, and from the corner of her eye, she spotted a second figure slip into place behind her. Praying for safety, she tamped down the fear threatening to incapacitate her as similar scenes enacted in the prison yard flashed in her mind.

She looked the man in front of her straight in the eye. “What do you want?” Her voice came out strong and steady, despite the hard rock in the pit of her stomach.

“You’re stirring up trouble where you shouldn’t be.” The man spoke causally, but Melender picked up on the iron behind the words. “You didn’t heed my warning.”

“So you’re the person who called to warn me?” The best defense was to go on the offensive. “Who are you working for?”

The man chuckled, the sound worming under her composure, but she held onto her calm front. “You have spunk. I like the spunky ones. It’s so much more satisfying when they finally crack.”

The words should have scared her, but anger overrode her fear. For her entire adult life, someone had told her what to do and when to do it. Her tired body tensed as anger loosened her tongue. “They say it’s important to enjoy your work.”

Surprise flickered in the man’s dark eyes. Before he could speak, Melender sidestepped him. His accomplice grabbed her arm, whirled her around, and slammed her body into the brick wall of the building. He shoved Melender’s head against the unyielding surface, scraping her right cheek along the spiky bricks. Fiery pain radiated throughout her entire being as her assailant kept her immobile.

“You will cease and desist in this Quixote quest to clear your name,” the first man hissed in her ear.

The man’s literary reference triggered a long-ago memory, but his accomplice smashed her head even harder against the brick, driving the thought far away.

“Do you understand me?”

Before Melender could reply, someone shouted, “Hey! What’s going on over there?”

The pressure suddenly lifted, and she sagged to the ground like a deflating balloon. A second later, someone touched her arm. “Mel, are you okay?”

Melender raised her head to see Yancy Simmons, one of her co-workers, gazing down with concern stamped on her face. “I think so. Are they gone?”

“Yeah. Tamika’s calling 911.” Yancy reached into her backpack and pulled out a folded bandana. “Here, your cheek’s bleeding.”

Melender pressed the cloth to her face. “Thank you.”

“Good thing I came along when I did.” Yancy squatted beside her, her warm brown eyes filled with compassion.

“I’m thankful you did too.” The man’s words ran in a loop in her brain. You didn’t heed the warning. Cease and desist. You didn’t heed the warning. Warning. Melender scrambled for her bag, then plunged her free hand inside to find her phone.

“What happened?” Yancy asked.

“I’m not sure.” With one hand still pressing the bandana to her cheek, Melender thumbed up her contacts list. “Would you let Janet know I won’t be able to take my shift tonight? I need to check on someone first.”

“Sure, I’ll let her know right away.” Yancy rose and moved away to call their boss as sirens wailed in the distance.

Melender called Brogan’s number and lifted the phone to her ear. Please, let him pick up.

One ring, then two.

Pick up, Brogan!

The call rolled to voice mail. “Brogan, it’s Melender. Please get back to me as soon as you get this message. It’s urgent.” She disconnected as a police cruiser parked near the alcove.

Yancy leaned down. “The police are here. Tamika asked for an ambulance too. I think that cut might need stitches.”

Melender had pushed thoughts about her cheek to the side in her frenzy to warn Brogan, but now she realized the cloth was sticky with blood. Dizziness swept over her. With her eyes closed, she leaned her head against the brick until the world righted itself.

“Miss?”

Melender met the gaze of Officer Gutierrez, the cop who’d come to her apartment last week following up on an alleged nuisance call. Great. That meant his partner, Officer Jones, would be here too. She had no desire to relate her story to Jones, who clearly had something against her for being an ex-con.

“Officer Gutierrez.” She craned her neck to see around the cop’s legs, not wanting to encounter Jones quite yet.

“Officer Taylor is talking to the witnesses,” Gutierrez said. “Looks like a nasty cut on your cheek.”

Relief poured over her that Jones didn’t appear to be with Gutierrez. “He smashed my face hard into the brick.”

“The EMTs are on their way.” Office Gutierrez dropped into a crouch beside her and pulled out his notebook and pen. “Do you think you can walk me through what happened?”

“Sure.” Melender sketched the details of the attack.

“Do you know what warning the man meant?” Gutierrez asked as the ambulance squealed into the parking lot.

“A few days ago, someone called me with essentially the same message. Stop looking into Jesse’s disappearance—or else.”

Two EMTs hustled toward them. The officer rose, making room for the approaching emergency technicians.

“Or else what?” Gutierrez asked.

She met Gutierrez’s eyes. “Or else someone could get hurt. The caller specifically mentioned Brogan Gilmore, a reporter with the Northern Virginia Herald.”