Star Witness. Mallory Kane

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      “Tell me just exactly what you were doing when the car tried to run you down.”

      Dani clenched her teeth. She’d seen that determined glint in his eye before—when they’d faced each other across the courtroom. He’d badger her until he got answers. With a defeated shake of her head, she walked over to the kitchen table and sat. “I’m really tired, so could we make it quick?”

      “I’ve got no problem with that.”

      She rested her clasped hands on the table and stared at them. “I was late leaving the office. It was probably six-thirty, so by the time I got home it must have been around seven.”

      He nodded without speaking.

      “I pulled into the driveway, parked and …” She paused. “I walked around to the front of the house to get the mail. The car just popped up out of nowhere. I heard the engine rev, but I didn’t pay any attention to it until the sound kept getting louder and louder.”

      “Where were you when you realized the car was coming at you?”

      “About ten feet or so from the mailbox.” She wasn’t happy about having to relive those moments. She’d been through them already, she’d had to answer questions about them twice for the police and now Harte was asking the same questions. She pushed her fingers through her hair. “Every single bit of this is in my statement,” she groused.

      “You’d already gotten the mail?”

      “No. I was walking toward the box.”

      “So you realized it was coming at you …”

      She nodded. “And I just ran. I don’t even remember jumping up onto the porch.”

      “Sounds like it’s a good thing you did.”

      She rubbed her wrist. “I do remember the landing. Did you look at the damage?” she asked.

      “A little bit. I couldn’t tell a whole lot in the dark, but the front steps are basically splinters now.” He looked at her. “Why? You haven’t?”

      She shook her head. “No. As soon as they were finished questioning me, I came inside, took a hot shower and tried to relax. Then I heard you sneaking around.”

      He opened his mouth as if to deny again that he’d been sneaking, then apparently changed his mind. “Did you see him?”

      “See who? Oh, the driver?” She shook her head. “I barely got a glimpse of the car. The first thing I knew after I started running was that I was on the porch and my wrist and my left hip hurt. And my elbows and knees stung.” She lifted her arm.

      Harte frowned at the angry red scrape just under her elbow.

      “I sat up and tried to catch the license, but the car was nearly out of sight and I couldn’t make it out.”

      “Can you describe the car?” Harte asked.

      “It was dark, maybe black.”

      “And the shape? The size?”

      Dani closed her eyes. “It looked really big, but that might be because it was racing toward me.”

      “An SUV?”

      She shook her head. “No. It was a—” She gestured. “A regular car. You know, a sedan.”

      “Have you ever met Ernest Yeoman?”

      Dani shook her head.

      “Myron Stamps? Paul Guillame?”

      “Come on, Harte. I’ve answered these questions a dozen times. For the police, for the other assistant district attorney and now I’ve got to answer them for you? I’m tired.”

      “Humor me,” he said. “I want you to answer as if you’re answering on the stand.”

      Dani sighed. “I know Senator Stamps. He used to come over here a lot to talk to Granddad. They’d argue into the night. I’d make coffee for them.”

      “What did they argue about?” he asked.

      “You know all this,” she groused. “The docks. The Port of New Orleans. Granddad fought for raising tariffs and taxes. He was convinced that lowering tariffs would allow more smuggling through the Port of New Orleans.”

      “And Stamps argued against that?”

      She nodded. “Sure. He was on Con Delancey’s side.”

      “Lower the tariffs to boost revenue and create more jobs,” Harte said.

      “Not to mention creating more crime-smuggling contraband and drugs.”

      Harte frowned, looking thoughtful. “I’ve never understood that argument. Smuggling by definition is bypassing normal import channels.”

      “You’re not that naive, are you? They smuggle the contraband and drugs in with the legally imported items. Sometimes inside them. Higher tariffs cut into their profits, and enforcing the higher tariffs means more port authority officers around.”

      Harte nodded. “I know the reasoning. So back to Stamps. You’re saying he and your granddad butted heads on the issue of tariffs, even though your granddad’s position had never changed? I wonder why.”

      “Granddad didn’t like Stamps, but he was too polite to refuse to see him. He always said—” Dani stopped. As an attorney, she hated speculation and hearsay. Harte would probably light into her if she started relating her granddad’s opinion of Stamps.

      “What?” he asked.

      She gave a little shake of her head and made a dismissive gesture.

      “Dani, tell me. Anything might be important.”

      “Even if defense council would cut me off in a heartbeat for hearsay?”

      His eyes softened in amusement. “Tell me and let me decide.”

      “It could be considered defamatory.”

      “Then definitely tell me.”

      Dani covered a yawn with her hand. “Okay. Granddad said that back when he and Con Delancey faced off over the tariff issue, it was a gentleman’s argument between two public servants who genuinely believed in their position. He had a very different opinion about Myron Stamps.”

      “Tell me.”

      “He was convinced that Stamps was doing it for money.”

      “Money? What money? Why haven’t you told me this before?”

      She shrugged. “Apparently, when he was first elected, Stamps was all for more stringent controls on the port. Then a few years ago he abruptly shifted positions. Granddad figured somebody got to him.”

      Harte took a small notepad out СКАЧАТЬ