Overkill(11)

“What kind of relationship had you had with them before?”

“Contentious.” He scoffed. “Hell, why mince words? They hated me from the day they met me, and from the day they met me, I didn’t give a shit. But in light of what had happened, you would think that all that crap could be put aside, that there would be some compassion extended on both sides, that it would draw us closer, not—”

He placed his elbow on the table and rubbed his forehead. “I mean, I get it. They were shredded. So, in the end, I told them that I respected their position, that by taking no action at all, I was, in fact, following Rebecca’s wishes, and that I wouldn’t intrude unless asked by them. And I split.”

“Soon after, they had Rebecca moved from Atlanta to a special care facility in New Orleans.”

“You’ve done your homework.”

“I have a copy of your letter granting them permission.”

He raised a shoulder. “The move only made sense. Rebecca was born and raised in New Orleans, and the Pratts still lived down there.”

Quietly, she said, “I also know that the facility declined to take her. Initially.”

“The doctor in charge had a dim outlook on Rebecca’s ‘viability.’”

“Until you guaranteed to cover the expense of her care in perpetuity.”

He shifted his weight on the unstable chair and focused on a bird feeder hanging from a tree branch beyond Kate Lennon’s shoulder. The feeder was running low on seeds. Shifting his gaze back to hers, he said, “It’s an automatic draw on a separate account. I don’t have any personal involvement.”

She let a moment go by, then, “Earlier, I mentioned a development.”

“Oh, yes. The development. I hope it’s something good. Tell me one positive thing, please. I’m not greedy. Just one.”

“I truly am sorry to have to lay all this on you at once.”

“Yeah, me too.” He glanced at his watch. “In fact, I have a time limit for hearing bad news, and we’re way past it.” The chair legs scraped against the bricks as he pushed away from the table. But he hadn’t yet stood when she reached across and came an inch shy of placing her hand on his arm.

“Please,” she said. “I need to finish.”

“Finish telling me what this lovely stroll down memory lane has been for?”

“Yes.”

“Finally.” He spread his arms wide and, sounding like an ass again, said, “Let me have it.”

This time she let it slide and went straight to the point. “Did you know Eban Clarke before the incident?”

“No. I’d never heard of him or his family until the breaking news story referred to their mansion.”

“Why didn’t you attend his trial?”

“Were you involved?”

“No. I came to the case only recently. But while gathering background information, I read that you didn’t appear at his trial. Why not?”

“In his sordid universe, Eban Clarke was a celebrity. I was a bigger one in mine. I knew his trial would be a media event, which it turned out to be even without me there. My attendance would have added more sensationalism. ‘The ex-husband and the current boyfriend battle it out in court.’ I didn’t want to inflict that on myself or the Pratts.

“But I closely followed the proceedings. In my opinion the son of a bitch got off way too light. And then, I couldn’t believe it when I got notification a few months ago about a sentence reduction hearing.”

She said, “I did the research for the prosecutor who argued on behalf of the state and Rebecca. You had the right to be present and heard at the hearing, but you declined.”

“I declined to be present, but I sent my opinion to the judge.”

“Yes, your statement was read in court. In essence, you urged the judge to keep Clarke in prison and to throw away the key.”

“Little good it did,” he said.

“Your argument might have carried more weight if you’d delivered it in person.”

“I doubt it. The upshot is that Clarke got his sentence reduced. Last I heard the judge was deliberating by how much.”

“Well, he’s made that determination. Taking into account the two years Clarke has already served, and the allowance given for good behavior, he’s being released.”

“On parole?”

“Without any provision.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”

“I wish I were, Mr. Bridger.”

“You mean he’ll be let go, free as a bird?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“When?”

“Today.”





Chapter 5





It might not have been the best idea to give him a quarter-million-dollar Porsche as an early release gift.”

Sid Clarke smiled as he poured two bourbons, one for himself, one for the family attorney. “It’s a Turbo. Top of the line.”

“Silver, red interior. I saw it parked out front. A splash of water in mine, please.” Because they always drank their whiskeys neat, Sid gave his friend a puzzled look. “It cuts the calories,” Upton said.

“That’s self-deluding.”