Page 46 of Lie for a Million

Jasmine sank onto the sofa, her knees too weak to support her. Louis had dismissed her. But that didn’t mean he’d believed her story. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t be planning some ghastly accident for her in the near future. She couldn’t contact Nick Bellingham without implicating her mother. And she couldn’t involve Sam without risking his life.

Was Madeleine in danger, too? Louis appeared to care for her, maybe because he knew she didn’t have long to live. But that could change in a heartbeat if he decided she knew too many of his secrets.

Jasmine could try to run. But running would only cast her into suspicion. And Louis had a web of contacts that could reach her anywhere. Even if she could get away, as long as her mother lived, she was duty bound to remain here. Madeleine hadn’t been a paragon of perfect motherhood, but she didn’t deserve to die alone.

Jasmine stood up and walked out onto the balcony. The sunset had darkened to twilight. Windblown clouds were scudding in over the lake. Jasmine could taste the grit in the air. She thought about Sam. She knew he loved her. But she couldn’t call and ask him to keep her safe. He had his own worries, and the risk was too great.

The wind had taken on a chill. Jasmine stepped back inside. She didn’t need sharp instincts to tell her that once Madeleine was gone, Louis would have no more interest in keeping her alive. He might even choose to get rid of her sooner.

Protecting herself—and possibly her mother—would be up to her. She would have to be smart and alert. And she was going to need an escape plan.

* * *

The next morning, Sam was able to reach the court clerk. A few weeks earlier, he’d spoken with her in person and presented his FBI credentials. She remembered him and had no problem giving him the information he needed.

“The prisoner you’re asking about is Judd Proctor. For now, he’s still locked up, charged with dealing controlled substances, mostly cocaine. He was remanded to custody because he has a history as a flight risk. So there he sits, at least until his trial, which is on the docket for Tuesday.”

“And his arrest date?” Sam asked.

She gave him the arrest date—three weeks ago today. Well after Frank Culhane’s murder. Sam’s pulse surged. The timing could mean nothing. Or it could be the key to unlocking this case.

“How do I arrange to talk with him?” Sam asked.

The clerk gave him the number to call for an appointment. “Don’t be surprised if his lawyer shows up.”

“I’d be more surprised if he didn’t show up.” Sam thanked the woman and called the number she’d given him. He was able to get an appointment for that afternoon, with Judd Proctor’s attorney present.

The interview was conducted in the jail’s interrogation room with the usual table and one-way mirror in the back. Judd and his counselor were waiting on the far side of the table when Sam walked in.

The lawyer, Calvert Watson, was a lanky, professorial type with a balding head, prominent hooked nose, and glasses. As he stood, Sam noted the expensive cut of his tailored suit. He remembered walking past a new Lexus in the parking lot. The man was clearly no bargain basement public defender. He was being well paid, perhaps with drug money.

Judd Proctor was not handcuffed to the table, but he looked surly enough to bite. Rangy and muscular in his ill-fitting orange jumpsuit, he glowered at Sam from beneath bristling eyebrows. His hair was shoulder length, his jaw coated with stubble. The nails of his outsize hands were overgrown and permanently stained with grease.

Following procedure, the interview would be recorded. Sam switched on the machine; noted the date, time, and place; and named himself, the lawyer, and Judd Proctor as individuals present.

Watson spoke up. “Permit me to add, Agent, that Mr. Proctor is here as a courtesy, by his own consent, and that this interview has no bearing on his present case. Agreed?”

“Of course,” Sam said, and began with the routine preliminary questions before getting to the reason he’d come.

“Mr. Proctor, were you acquainted with the late Frank Culhane?”

Judd glanced at the lawyer. “Not in person. But I knew who he was. Everybody did. And I don’t care that he’s dead. Whoever killed the rich old bastard did the world a favor.”

“Did you ever speak with Mr. Culhane?”

“No. Not even after he stole my girlfriend. I was mad enough to kill him, but I didn’t do it. I swear to God.”

Watson cleared his throat. “Agent, if you wouldn’t mind stopping a moment, I’d like a private word with my client.”

Sam turned off the recorder and stepped outside. Through the one-way window, he could see the two men talking. It didn’t take lip-reading skills to know what Watson was telling his client. Whenever possible, Judd was to confine his answers to yes and no. He was not to volunteer anything.

Sam returned to the interview. He’d been right about Watson’s warning to his client. Most of Judd’s answers to his questions were now given in monosyllables.

“Do you know a man named Roper McKenna? Do you know where he lives?”

“No and no.”

“Are you acquainted with Miss Crystal Carter?”

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