A Score to Settle. Kara Lennox

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СКАЧАТЬ olive oil, tomato juice, salt—all the things once might expect to find on someone who spent time in a restaurant kitchen.

      One finding, though, made Jamie stop: “a black, powdery substance assumed to be from a laser printer or copy machine.”

      Assumed to be? Since when did crime-scene analysts assume anything? Probably the restaurant had a printer or copy machine, and since Frank Sissom was one of the owners, she had every reason to believe he’d been in the office and changed a printer cartridge.

      But a black, powdery substance could also be metal shavings. Damn it.

      She called the guy who’d signed the report, Eddie Goddard. He’d been working at the crime lab since Jamie was in high school, and though he was normally thorough and dependable, he still was not her favorite person. A card-carrying member of the Good Ol’ Boys Club, he didn’t like women telling him what to do.

      “Eddie. I see you’re working late like me.” It was now well after five.

      “I was just heading out, actually. What can I do for you?” He did not sound enthusiastic about adding any tasks to his To Do list.

      “I won’t stop you from getting home in time for dinner,” she promised, hoping to earn brownie points. “But tomorrow morning, I’m going to bring you a piece of clothing from the Frank Sissom case. I need some additional analysis on a certain stain.”

      “You’re joking, right? That case is ancient.”

      “Wish I was. But I need to shut somebody up before he goes to the press and makes our lives more miserable than they already are. A quick look-see under a microscope will probably do the trick.” She hoped.

      “Okay, sure,” he agreed in monotone.

      Tomorrow morning, she would retrieve the actual physical evidence from the police, hand the victim’s shirt over to Eddie and pray that Theresa Chavez didn’t call.

      CHAPTER THREE

      “DANIEL, SORRY TO disturb you, but Jamie McNair is on line two.”

      The four men and two women seated in Daniel’s conference room looked surprised by the interruption, and it was no wonder; his staff knew not to disturb him during a Logan Oil & Gas board meeting. The company was largely responsible for maintaining Daniel’s personal wealth, and Daniel remained involved in the overall direction and philosophy of the company his grandfather had started.

      The meeting was important, but Jamie took priority.

      “I have to take this call,” Daniel said to the board as he rose. “Shouldn’t last more than five minutes.”

      When Jamie had left his home two days ago, Daniel hadn’t been sure how, or even if, she would follow up. So he was a bit surprised and pleased that she’d called him.

      He stepped down the hall and into his private office, then picked up the phone.

      “Jamie. Good to hear from you.”

      “Mr. Logan.”

      Damn, she didn’t sound nearly as warm as he’d hoped. “Did Theresa get in touch with you?” He already knew she had; he’d personally seen to it. He’d even hired a car and driver to take her to the district attorney’s office for an interview.

      “She did. And I’ll be honest with you, she piqued my interest.”

      “Then you’ll reopen the case,” he said confidently.

      “Don’t get your hopes up. She seemed genuine, but I still haven’t verified she was at the scene of the crime. For all I know, she’s an actress you hired.”

      Daniel bit his tongue to stifle a snide retort. After spending six years hitting brick wall after brick wall trying to overturn his own conviction, he shouldn’t be a bit surprised by Jamie’s attitude.

      “I can provide the documentation you need—”

      “I’ll provide my own, thanks very much. And if I find out she’s lying, I’ll personally see to it she’s prosecuted. And if I find you paid her to lie, I’ll prosecute you.”

      Daniel was livid. He was so tired of this attitude. Of course, the Harris County D.A.’s office would be doubly motivated to prevent another overturned conviction; Project Justice had recently gained freedom for a mobster’s son convicted of killing his girlfriend, and the case had caused some major embarrassment for the D.A.

      “It sounds as if you simply don’t like me very much. Are you going to let personal feelings stand in the way of justice?”

      “Please stop being so simplistic. I’m convinced I did a good job convicting Christopher Gables. Naturally, it’s going to take a solid argument to persuade me I made a mistake.”

      “We’re talking about a man’s life here.”

      “Yes, the life of Frank Sissom, Gables’s victim. Do you have anything else to show me? If so, bring it on.”

      “What about that unidentified DNA?”

      “If you have a theory about where it came from—or any other evidence—I’m willing to talk. Contrary to what you might believe, I do not have a closed mind. In fact, I’m having one of our evidence analysts reexamine Frank Sissom’s apron.”

      “Really?” She’d succeeded in surprising him.

      “I should have results tomorrow.”

      “Then by all means, we should talk again. When can you get here? I can free up my schedule anytime—”

      “I’m glad to hear that, because mine is packed. I can spare you an hour tomorrow afternoon or Monday morning, here at my office.”

      Daniel’s heart clutched, and he forced himself to breathe deeply. “I can’t possibly drive downtown.”

      “Afraid you’d miss your afternoon massage? Exactly how serious are you about wanting to free your client? I disrupted my whole schedule to drive to River Oaks. If you want my cooperation, you can meet me halfway. Besides, we might need to talk to people in the crime lab or the investigating officers involved in the case—all of whom can be found downtown.”

      “I can send one of my best people.” And admit to his staff—already skeptical—that he was not up to handling a case on his own. That would be a bitter pill to swallow.

      “Okay. Your assistant can meet with my assistant.”

      Now she was playing hardball. “Ms. McNair. Jamie. This matter is too serious for us to play games.”

      “Don’t talk to me about games. You’re the one who made me cool my heels while you got your massage and sent me home with tiramisu, trying to butter me up.”

      Maybe she had a point. “Did you like it, by the way? Chef Claude is a genius.”

      “That is immaterial. I’ve got a lot on my plate and I really don’t have time to chase after every hard-luck and if-only story I hear. You believe he’s СКАЧАТЬ