Paper Castles Page 12
The nightmares weren’t disposed of so easily. She killed Price every night in her dreams. Sometimes shooting him, aiming down the barrel of the gun. Sometimes stabbing him over and over until the blood ran down her arm. One dream had her poised in a window with a sniper rifle and she watched the slow motion replay of Price’s head being blown off as he and Jackie Kennedy drove by in their convertible.
She woke in a sweat, thinking it was blood soaking her sheets. Sometimes she had to get up and shower in the middle of the night to scrub it off. Neenie would sit by her side, rubbing her hands, stroking her hair and wrapping Savannah up in the sweet molasses of her words until she could find a peaceful place to close her eyes.
She dreaded the nights and what she was forced to battle when the lights went down. Her mind was frantic to find answers while she slept.
What if her nightmares knew the truth?
Now, here at the ocean’s door, she slept soundly and unaided, with Daisy snoring on the floor next to her. This morning she was up with the sun, walking the silent stretch of beach in front of the family home. It sat like a sentinel on the ridge, wrapping around the dune like a mother’s arms. A wall of windows faced the sea, framed in weathered, soft gray.
Other than a lone fisherman in the distance, the beach belonged to her. Daisy was far ahead, chasing a black skimmer as he glided across the water’s edge, knife-edged beak slicing through the waves and scooping fish into his bill. With their wings outstretched, hovering over the surface, Savannah always thought they looked like they were ice skating.
The water was cool this morning. The waves licked at her ankles, carrying away her footprints as if she’d never been there. She rolled her white pants up to her calves and stepped further into the surf. She stopped a moment, staring at the horizon, feeling the incessant pull of the sea as the sand shifted under her feet. She’d like to disappear along with her footprints. No trace of her existence. The prospect stared back at her for a long time. It scared her how comforting the thought of disappearing was.
Daisy was barking at something and Savannah turned back up to the beach to see a man standing there, one hand shading his eyes while he waved with the other one.
Who the heck is that?
She was in no hurry to find out. She pulled her thin gray sweater tighter around her shoulders. The breeze ruffled her hair around her face as she took her time heading to the house, calling Daisy to her side in the process. The man made no move to leave. Great. Some salesman, she guessed. Or a lost tourist. He waved to her again, as she got closer, and she returned the salutation with an unenthused lift of one arm.
“Hi. I’m Phil Hannigan.” He stood there with his hand outstretched. Savannah stared blankly, wondering why she should care.
“I’m your attorney. Your father hired me.”
“Oh.” Savannah shifted the seashells to her left hand, brushing the sand from her right hand before extending it. “I wasn’t expecting you here on the island.”
A firm handshake. “Sorry if I caught you off-guard. I wanted to meet with you before I met with your father.”
“I see.”
“Your housekeeper told me I’d find you here.”
Words took a different turn off his tongue. Savannah struggled to place the accent as she pointed to the house.
“Do you want to come in?”
Phil followed her back, his loafers no match for the sandy dune. She grinned at his attempts to make traction as they walked through tall tufts of beach grass, swaying as the breeze swept over it in a lover’s caress.
“Let me get a few things from my car, do you mind?” Phil turned towards an unpretentious black rental car sitting in her driveway.
“I’ll put some coffee on,” Savannah said.
As the coffee began to percolate, she gathered cups and spoons, sugar, and cream. Phil was setting up shop on the dining room table, pulling yellow legal pads and files from his briefcase. His initials were stamped into the leather in chunks of gold. Solid, hefty letters with no flourishes. He meant business.
He smiled as she set the tray on the table and she felt a little better about him. A few fine lines pulled at the corners of blue eyes. He looked more approachable when he smiled. Then again, dealing with murderers wasn’t exactly funny business.
“Do you take anything in yours?” Savannah asked as she poured.
“Black is fine. Simple and unadorned.”
“Me too,” she said, sliding the mug across the table.
She tucked her leg up under her, pulling the mug close as she spun the spoon through her coffee. She noticed Phil’s eyebrow twitch as he watched her.
“I know,” Savannah shook her head. “I gave up cream years ago, but I still like to stir it. Isn’t that silly?”
“Why?”
“I like the sound it makes.”
Another quick smile before he ducked his head back to the stack of papers before him. “So where are you from again, Phil?”
“Philadelphia.”
“Ah.”
“Ah?”
“Phil from Philly. Obviously that’s why my father chose you.”
“Excuse me?”
She pointed a finger at her face. “Phil from Philly and I’m Savannah from...”
Phil nodded slowly. “From Savannah. Got it.”
No sense of humor, she thought, drinking her coffee. This is going to be great.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence in my abilities as a litigator,” he said. “But I’d like to think I have just one or two things to bring to the table other than my amusing name.”
“Whoa there, Philadelphia. I didn’t mean to step on your feelings.” Savannah sat back in her chair trying to take the measure of the man.
Her father and brother had assured her Phil Hannigan was the best of the best. Jack Kendall and Phil’s father were roommates at law school and in an odd collaboration between the north and south, had kept up a friendship through the years.
Which was all well and good. But Savannah still had to relate to him. She was trusting him with her life, and he was shuffling papers around like she already annoyed him.
“Look, I’m really in no shape to walk around on eggshells,” she said. “I’m hanging on by my fingernails here and I don’t have time to be worried about male egos.”
His blue eyes flicked over her, in their depths she could see decisions being made. Then, the easy grin she’d seen earlier returned.
“Hell, no,” he said. “I’m a big city boy. You don’t need to worry about me.”
Savannah eyed him with suspicion. “Uh, huh.”
“Speaking of your father,” Phil’s tone took control of the conversation. “I met him once at a conference. He seemed the epitome of the southern gentleman. And a bit formidable.”
“He is that.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing him again, tomorrow. Like I said, I wanted to meet with you first. Get a feel for my potential client—before I commit to the case.”
“I should consider this an audition?”
“Precisely.” Now his tone was playful.
Maybe she’d be comfortable with this guy, after all. He was handsome. In a serious way. More importantly, he looked capable. Reading glasses perched on his nose, a frown line on his forehead, pen in hand. He pulled out a tape recorder and looked over at her.
“Ready?”
She eyed the legal pad and the recorder. “You need both?”
“The tape speaks for itself. The notes are for me. Words that spring to mind, as you tell your story. Things I want to remind myself to check on later. I know you’re tired of telling it. But I don’t want notes and transcripts. I need to hear your words. Each time you tell it, you’ll get more comfortable. You might even remember more than you think.”
“I see.”
Phil pressed the button on the recorder and the little red light began to blink. “So tell me everything you remember about that night.”
“It’ll be a short story.”
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“I know you think you don’t remember much, but it’s my job to figure out what’s important. Give me everything you can remember. Sights, sounds, even something you sensed but couldn’t quite put your finger on. Especially every word between the two of you. Then we’ll back up and look at the days preceding the...”
He started to say, murder. His lips pressed together in the M and she could feel the word stifled between pursed lips.
“The night in question,” he finished.
She nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
“Wait.” Phil reached over and paused the recorder. “I have the notes here about Adam Vincent.”
“I don’t know why that has to be brought up at trial,” Savannah said.
“Because they’re using it as motive. Price confronted you, threatened you...”
“Then I killed him.”
“Lucky for Mr. Vincent, he has an airtight alibi for that night.”
“And I’m glad about that, because I know Adam would never do anything violent. It kills me to know he was dragged in for questioning because of me.” She remembered telling him someone could get hurt, but neither one of them could’ve envisioned this scenario.
Phil was watching her closely. Taking notes without writing a single word. It made her feel uncomfortable.
“I’m going to need you to tell me everything about your affair.”
“I’d rather not call it an affair.”
“I’m not here to judge you. I’m not your father or your brother. Nothing you can say will shock me. I’ve heard it all.”
“So you’re also a priest?”
“No, far from it actually. But if you bare your soul to me, I just might be able to save it.”
The sound of his laughter rolled across the table between them, and the tape recorder and legal pads seemed a little less intimidating. Savannah felt herself relaxing.
Phil poured himself another cup of coffee and stirred the black brew with a spoon. “You’re right. It is a nice sound.”
“WHAT ABOUT that earring found at the scene?” Phil was thumbing through stacks of papers.
“Another mystery.” Savannah’s shoulders drooped and she rolled her head to release the kink in her neck. They’d been talking for hours.
“According to the notes, the cleaning crew had been through your husband’s office from seven to eight in the evening. So the earring was left after eight o’clock.”
“But I wasn’t wearing those earrings that night. It was Valentine’s Day. I wore little gold heart earrings.”
“Any doubt it was your earring?”
“I didn’t see the actual evidence, but the earrings in question were custom-made. Price designed them. And there were pictures of me wearing them on New Year’s Eve.”
“I saw those. The police never found the mate to the earring, even during the search of your home. I don’t suppose you’ve found it?”
“Don’t I wish? I can’t find it. Believe me, I’ve looked.”
“You had no idea the earrings where missing?”
“No, as far as I knew they were tucked in my jewelry box, right where I left them after New Year’s Eve.”
Phil was tapping on his legal pad. “They have your earring left at the scene, your fingerprints on the murder weapon, and an eyewitness says he saw you leaving through the back of the building around midnight.”
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” The permanent knot in her stomach added another twist.
“I’d say they have a pretty good case. If you like circumstantial evidence.” His grin did nothing to alleviate the fear draped around Savannah’s shoulders like a heavy winter coat. The mountain of proof against her seemed insurmountable, with no way down. The map with the sole escape route was locked in some dark corner of her memory.
“Let’s talk about the gun.”
“That’s easy. I clearly remember Price bringing home that pearl-handled revolver. He was all excited about it.”
“When was that?”
“January second. I remember it was right after New Year’s Day. “
“So he brought it home to show you.”
“Well, not to show me, specifically. I walked in his office and he had it out. He was happy to show it off. I held it. Admired it. That’s all.”
“Good,” Phil said. “There’s the fingerprints.”
Savannah nodded. “I told him I didn’t want it in the house and he said he’d keep it at the office.”
Phil was writing notes next to notes. “That’s two pieces of evidence we can poke holes in. The eyewitness might be more challenging. Do you know anything about him?” He flipped pages back looking for the name. “Claude Irby?”
“I don’t know him, don’t recognize him name. Neither did Kip or Daddy.”
“I’ll see what we can dig up on him.”
Savannah stood up to stretch tired muscles as Phil scribbled frantic notes in the margins of a typewritten page.
“Can we take a break?” Savannah asked.
Phil looked up, blinked his eyes and glanced at his watch. “Oh sure. I could use a break, too.” He ran a hand through his hair then tossed his pen on the table, followed by his glasses.
“Let’s take a walk,” Savannah said.
Daisy, who had been lying protectively at Savannah’s feet, heard her cue and was heading for the door.
“Looks like someone’s ready,” Phil said.
“She’s always ready. I think she loves the beach more than I do.”
Sitting at the table for hours, reliving events and recounting every dirty detail had exhausted Savannah. The fresh ocean air was a stimulant. Her muscles lengthened as she took long strides down the beach. Phil wisely left his loafers behind and rolled up the pant legs on his khakis. They left their words behind at the house, and fell into a silent comfortable rhythm, toes squishing into wet sand and letting the sea set the pace.
Turning her face to the sun, Savannah stopped and closed her eyes. The sound of the surf rolled over her, loosening the tightness in her limbs.
Phil broke the silence. “This is a beautiful place.”
“It’s my favorite place in the world. If it were my choice, I’d live here. Whenever our family came for vacations, I could barely wait for the car to come to a stop before I jumped out and ran to the water.”
She stared down the stretch of beach as if she could see a ten-year old Savannah Kendall, brown legs sprinting down the sand, arms thrown wide when she reached the ocean’s edge. Hello, old friend. And the waves would roll up and kiss her ankles in their reply.
Welcome home.
They walked on in silence again. Phil’s hands in his pockets. He seemed to become a little less stiff the longer the waves chipped away at him. The ocean had a way of doing that to people.
“How about I interview you for a change?” Savannah asked.
Phil leaned down and picked up a shell, examining it thoughtfully before tossing it back in the water.
“I suppose you have every right,” he said. “Fire away.”
“I hear you’ve never lost a case.”
“That’s right.”
“Were any of your clients guilty?”
“Not as far as I’m concerned.”
“Does that mean they weren’t guilty? Or you just chose to believe they weren’t?”
“A little bit of both, I guess. I’m in a great position in my career. Meaning, I’m not desperate. I get to pick and choose my clients. At this point, belief in the case and in my client is a prerequisite.”
“What if I’m guilty?”
Phil stopped and faced her, looking down, blue eyes narrowed in a serious expression. “Are you?”
She looked into his eyes, letting him see her without the armor of excuses, reasons or rationalizations. “I don’t know,” she said. “Can you imagine what it feels like?”
“No.” He broke their gaze, as if her pain was too much to hold. “I’m not going to lie. I can’t imagine what it’s like having all thi
s evidence presented against you, and your only defense is a hole in your memory. It must be frightening.”
“More than you could know. It’s like I’m watching a movie of my life, but I don’t recognize the person playing me.”
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“So…have you made up your mind yet?”
“About?”
“Whether or not you’ll take my case?”
“I have. I’d like to represent you, if you’ll have me. On one condition.”
“Which is?”
“Complete honesty. I won’t settle for anything less. We’ll have our work cut out for us. A lot of it will be painful for you. I dig at a case like an archeologist. You’d be surprised what you can find hiding below the surface. People don’t always like that.”
“I’m tired of hiding.” The truth came out unprompted. “I’m ready if you are.”
Phil held out his hand and Savannah shook it, sealing the deal. Her fingers rested in the strength of his handshake and her gray eyes lifted to a confident smile.
“You’re hired, Mr. Hannigan.”
STANDING AT Savannah’s front door, little beads of perspiration on the tip of her nose, Millie Kimble Taylor looked sheepish.
“I knew you wouldn’t see me if I tried to call first.”
Savannah hesitated before opening the door wider, inviting her old friend inside. “Come in. It’s a hundred degrees out there.”
Her annoyance buzzed around her like bees and she had to keep swatting at it as she ushered her friend through the living room to a comfy chair. She’d been a virtual recluse since being released from jail, ignoring phone calls from neighbors and friends. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, let alone see them. Not even Millie, whose heart was in the right place.
Neenie brought tall glasses of sweet tea and Millie held the tumbler of icy goodness to her forehead.
“Lord, it’s so hot you could fry a frog on the sidewalk.”
Savannah grinned in spite of herself. “I think it’s supposed to be an egg.”