The President didn’t appoint him into office because of money or power. He chose him because he was tough on crime and won ninety percent of the cases he prosecuted. He wanted to believe he still served justice, but since arresting Mallory he’d made one stupid mistake after another.
Judd stared at the disturbing photos of Bentley Hayes’ mutilated body as he sipped his coffee. On one hand, he could argue that the number of stab wounds, even the stabbing itself, was committed by someone filled with immense, uncontrollable rage. In his experience, and according to different authorities on the subject, murders committed like this were usually personal. Judd read the statements by the ER doctor who’d treated Mallory. When questioned, he’d admitted that such emotions could be a side effect of Rohypnol. Yet, he’d also claimed that she’d been given enough of the drug to kill her. He perused the lab report. The equivalent of at least three pills were in Mallory’s system. That jived with Officer Marcus Finnigan’s report when SWAT arrived at the Hayes’ estate in Bel-Air. Mallory had been slow to respond, confused, and unsteady on her feet as if she were drunk.
He needed more caffeine and returned to the kitchen for a second cup of coffee. Another thing bothered him about how Mallory had been found when Finnigan and other SWAT officers burst into the Hayes’ master suite. She’d still been in her evening gown from the fundraiser the previous evening. Even if she’d been drugged and enraged, wouldn’t she have changed her clothes afterward? Tried to get rid of any evidence? Judd reread Finnigan’s report. Mallory had been “lying on her back with the serrated knife in her left hand.”
“Left hand? She’s not left-handed. What else have I missed?”
Judd set down his coffee and pulled out witness statements from the fundraiser. Senator Keane, his wife, and anyone who’d had direct contact with Hayes and Mallory testified that they were close and loving during the evening. No one witnessed any sign of tension or distance between them. Judd had heard rumors of Mallory’s unhappiness and unfaithfulness, but he’d believed Detective Martinelli when he’d denied sleeping with her. The detective had remained at ease and unflappable at the police station. Of course, that didn’t excuse Martinelli’s running off with Judd’s prime suspect in Hayes’ murder.
He drained his coffee, poured a third, and went back to his task. The message Mallory had left Martinelli from Ari Keane’s phone arrested his attention. She said she was afraid of her limo driver, but he’d been executed. Or maybe someone made it appear that way. But something else he’d ignored until now raised his heart rate. That damned fanged copperhead tattoo. Andre Lapeno didn’t have any tattoos.
During the investigation of LAPD Captain Yeniel Valentin, Judd and Mallory hit a brick wall regarding the symbolism behind the tattoo. Mercado and Tino refused to utter a single word in their own defense, and the reason they murdered Valentin confused him and Mallory. What he now admitted to himself is that they didn’t care to dig into Mercado’s and Tino’s past because of the pressure to rush them to trial. No one cared about them. Only the brutal murder of a good cop, husband, and father mattered.
He remembered Mallory’s caution against a speedy trial though the case was cut and dried. Judd wished he’d listened to her. Two officers, three women, and nine men belonging to some kind of a snake cult were dead, and the best D.A. he’d ever worked with was on the lam with a detective whose reputation was above reproach. The only clue linking everything together was Mallory prosecuting Mercado and Tino.
One other aspect of the situation bothered him. Judge Cohen insisting on arraigning Mallory and the five other women on a weekend. He’d never done that before, and Judd questioned why. He hadn’t requested it, despite what Cameron McAdams and Mallory believed. Right now, Judd put it on the back burner while he pieced together a puzzle that presented a bizarre picture.
“Think,” he muttered.
Judd swallowed a gulp of coffee, and his empty stomach rebelled. Adrenaline rushed through him as he followed the only plausible trail.
By ten that morning, Judd stood outside Justice and Brielle McQuaid’s home in Laguna Beach and pressed the doorbell. Brielle’s mother, Brianna McAdams, answered the door and greeted him with a soft, lovely smile. “Come in, Mr. Morgan. We’ve been expecting you. Are you hungry? We’re having brunch on the deck.”
Brianna’s graciousness surprised him. He half expected a tirade at his audacity. His stomach growled at the mention of food. “Yes, please. I’ve had nothing but coffee.”
“Well, I dare say you’re looking a little peaked this morning.”
Judd followed her through the open and airy spaces of the house into the kitchen.
“Go out to the deck, and I’ll fix your plate. How about a glass of lemonade instead of coffee?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Judd stepped onto the deck overlooking the Pacific Ocean. He marveled at the view before turning his attention to the others gathered around a large, rectangular table. Brielle lay propped on a cushioned chaise lounge. A toddler, who must be Noelle, played near Brielle’s feet. Another girl, a young teenager, stared at him with blatant interest from her place next to Justice. He and Cameron rose from their chairs to greet him, and he shook their hands. Judd recognized Faith Stoker and inwardly groaned. The last thing he needed was an investigative reporter poking her nose into his case.
“We were surprised to get your call,” Cameron commented. “Please, sit down.”
Judd settled onto a wrought iron chair that matched the rest of the outdoor furniture. Brianna set a plate of thick, golden French toast dusted with powdered sugar and topped with fresh blueberries, scrambled eggs and bacon and a frosty glass of lemonade in front of him, and his mouth watered.
“Give the man time to eat before you talk business,” Brianna admonished her husband with the same charming smile she’d bestowed upon him.
“Thank you, Mrs. McAdams. It looks delicious.”
Brianna dropped a kiss on Cameron’s cheek before she sat next to him. “You’re welcome.”
The family banter that included teasing remarks aimed at him triggered a deep-rooted regret for not raising children with his ex-wife. They’d both been only children of parents driven by ambition, and they’d followed the same path. His ex-wife had earned a larger salary than his after he’d left the private sector, so they’d invested wisely, and when they’d divorced, dividing their nest egg had netted them close to half a million dollars each. Judd thought they should have invested in themselves, their marriage, and a family. If their priorities had been different, perhaps they’d still be married.
Brianna refilled his glass of lemonade and asked if he wanted anything else to eat.
“No, thank you, Mrs. McAdams. Everything tasted wonderful.”
“Call me Brianna.” She lifted Noelle into her arms and beckoned Rosie, the adopted daughter, he learned. “Come on, girls. We promised Grandpa Franklin and Grandma Adrienne we’d visit them after brunch.”
Rosie jumped up from the table and started to clear everyone’s dishes. When Brianna and the girls were gone, Justice spoke to his wife. “Bri, you’ve been up for a while. Should I take you back to bed?”
“I feel fine. The fresh air is doing me good. Besides, I want to hear what Mr. Morgan has to say. Maybe I can offer some insight.”
“Okay, but let me know when you need to rest.”