Page 58 of Justice Delayed

“Is everything all right, Quentin?”

Quentin turned to see Ruby, her large sunglasses hiding her expression. He placed the phone on his chest to reply. “Just a business matter, my love. No need to worry.”

“I’m going inside. It’s too hot today.” She rose and walked into the house.

All he had done had been to protect his wife, to give her a life of ease after her impoverished upbringing. And she’d repaid him with loyalty, love, and two beautiful children.

Replacing the phone to his ear, he reiterated, “The district attorney’s office isn’t going to bother with perjury charges. Not after all these years and definitely not on a closed case.”

His words must have mollified Jared, who merely grunted, then said a quick goodbye. Quentin tapped the phone against his hand as he reviewed the conversation in his mind. His gut screamed that Jared’s uneasiness went beyond a fear of being charged with perjury, which meant something else about Melender’s asking questions had frightened his son. As he punched in a number, he moved off the pool deck and onto the covered patio to escape the sun’s brutal rays.

“Raines,” the man barked.

“I have someone else I want you to follow.”

“Name?”

“Jared Thompson, my son.” Quentin didn’t like spying on his firstborn, but he had to find out more about what was troubling him.

“Address?” If Raines was surprised that Quentin wanted his son under observation, his tone didn’t show it. Family members asking for surveillance on other family members was likely a large part of a PI’s business.

Quentin provided the information, then hesitated before asking his final request. As he disconnected the call, he questioned whether he wanted to know what Raines might uncover. Quentin headed to the house, certain that whatever the private investigator might find out couldn’t hurt his family as much as Jesse’s disappearance.

* * *

“So the lasttime you saw Melender was nearly four years ago?” Brogan sat across from former FBI agent Stanley Presley, thankful to have snagged a corner table at the busy Starbucks.

“Yes. At that time, she’d been in prison fourteen years, with at least three more to go to fulfill the rest of her sentence.” The older man leaned forward. “Did you know she turned down parole?”

“What?” Brogan wasn’t sure he’d heard the man correctly. No prisoner in her right mind would ditch a chance for freedom.

“Yep, she sure did. My partner and I talked to the warden before we interviewed Harman. The warden—this was at Fluvanna Correctional Center in Troy, Virginia, before Harman was moved to Deep Creek Correctional Facility—said Harman had been eligible for parole a few months before. The warden figured Harman would get it, too, what with her model behavior and exemplary record. Not one fight with fellow prisoners, which, considering the company she’d been keeping, was rather impressive. But when the parole interviewer asked her if she was ready to be released, Harman replied she wanted to serve her full sentence. The interviewer wrote her exact words. ‘I’d rather finish my sentence and be beholden to no one than be freed early and have to report to someone.’”

Brogan shook his head and took a sip of his coffee. “That’s quite an amazing statement.”

“I figured it was also smart. Once she’s served her time, with no parole hanging over her, there would be no leverage to make her tell where the body’s buried, now is there?” Presley leaned back in his chair. “She couldn’t be tried for the same crime and couldn’t be compelled to give up what she knew.”

Brogan still struggled with picturing Melender in a prison garb.

“My boss worked the original kidnapping case, and the missing body still bothered her. Whenever she had a couple of agents in her division between cases, she would authorize a trip to see Harman. My boss figured there was always a chance Harman might spill her secrets.”

Brogan stayed silent as the other man picked up his coffee.

Presley met Brogan’s gaze. “But as soon as Harman walked in the room and pulled out a chair to sit across from us, I knew she was a tough cookie and wouldn’t giving up anything.”

“You sound as if you admire her moxie.” Admittedly, Brogan had been taken in by her dark blue eyes, but he wasn’t a trained law enforcement officer.

“You’ve met her. Melender Harman was a beautiful woman even in prison.”

“Is that your professional opinion?” For some reason, hearing the older man describe Melender as beautiful got under Brogan’s skin.

Presley chuckled. “Yes, and before you get worked up, I wasn’t attracted to her. I’ve been very happily married for thirty-five years, and my missus would have my head on a platter if I even looked at another woman with lust in my heart.”

Brogan wasn’t sure he believed the former agent or not, but he let it go. “Did anything about her surprise you?”

“That one of the inmates hadn’t taken a knife to her mane of hair and sliced it clean off. After all, inmates don’t look kindly upon prisoners convicted of crimes against children.”

Brogan suppressed voicing his concerns over what Melender had experienced behind bars. To recover his emotional balance, he steered the conversation back to the actual interview. “What happened when you saw her?”

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