Page 72 of Justice Delayed

As Brogan and Seth got to their feet, Isadora stood. “Please tell Melender I’ve been praying for her all these years. I wrote her a few times, but I couldn’t visit, since my documents…”

Brogan didn’t pursue it any further. “I will pass along your words to Melender.”

At the door, Isadora folded her hands. “Please be careful. Digging into the past is bound to make people mighty uncomfortable.”

“Melender can’t be convicted for the same crime twice,” Brogan said.

The nanny wrung her hands. “This time, they might not be satisfied with her as goat.”

“Goat?” Brogan repeated, then got it. “Scapegoat.”

“Yes,” she said. “No, this time, they might just kill her instead.”

* * *

Brogan juggledhis cell phone as he pulled open the stairwell door. “Melender, I thought you’d be at work.” He held the door for Seth, then followed his colleague down the first flight of stairs.

“You’re okay?” Concern laced her words.

“More than okay.” He wanted to take the stairs two at time to run off some of the excitement after the fruitful interview, but his loafers weren’t conducive to that sort of athleticism. “We just had an interesting conversation with Ms. Alonso.”

“The former nanny?”

“Yep, she corroborates your story of the Thompsons leaving Jared in charge of Jillian and Jesse.” Brogan rounded the corner as the sound of sirens came through the phone. “Where are you?”

“At the hospital.”

“Why? What happened?” Brogan halted halfway down the flight of stairs, signaling with his hand for Seth to wait.

“Two men attacked me—” Static swallowed the rest of her words, but Brogan heard enough to dose his euphoria about the interview.

“Are you all right?” He gripped the phone tight against his ear.

Only static came over the line. He tried again. “You’re breaking up. I can’t hear you.” Frustration riddled his body as he pulled the phone away from his ear to gauge the signal strength. One bar wavered, then vanished, taking the call along with it. Brogan groaned and pocketed the phone.

“Is everything okay with Melender?” Seth asked from the twelfth-floor landing.

“She’s at the hospital.” He pushed past Seth and pounded down the stairs.

“What happened?” Seth picked up his pace as well, catching up to Brogan as they passed the eleventh floor.

“Two men attacked her.” At the sound of a door opening, Brogan glanced up as he went down the next set of stairs.

A man dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with a skull wreathed in flowers stepped into the stairwell. Unease settled down like a scarf snug around Brogan’s neck, but the man paid no attention to him or Seth, his gaze fixed on his phone. Brogan continued his hurried descent, the other man’s footsteps echoing behind them.

On the ninth-floor landing, a bearded man talked on his cell phone in low tones, nodding at Brogan as he rounded the landing and headed toward the eighth floor. The friendly gesture put him at ease, and Brogan returned to digesting the conversation with Isadora. Why hadn’t the FBI followed up on Jared’s drug habit? He made a mental note to see how often Jared had met with Snake back when Jesse Thompson went missing.

“Brogan, look out!” Seth’s cry nearly came too late.

Brogan gripped the railing hard with one hand as he instinctively dropped into a crouch, but he wasn’t quick enough to avoid a kick that landed against his ribs. The impact loosened his hold on the railing, while a second kick sent him tumbling down the stairs to the next landing.

The man with the skull t-shirt rushed toward him. Brogan scrambled to his feet in time for the man to connect with another kick that slammed him against the wall.

On his feet, Brogan swung his fist into his opponent’s face with a satisfying crack. But the man recovered quickly and responded with a punch to Brogan’s gut, doubling him over. His opponent pressed his advantage by hauling Brogan upright, then wedging his arm across Brogan’s throat, nearly choking off his air supply.

“You know what happens to reporters who stick their noses where they don’t belong?” The man hissed before shoving his arm tighter against Brogan’s throat. Black dots danced along the perimeter of Brogan’s vision. “They don’t live to write another story.”

“Hey, what’s going on?” A male voice shouted as Brogan struggled to breath.

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