arraignment was held late in the day. The courtroom was packed and they had to sit through a dozen other criminal indictments before Glory Witherington’s name was called. Lisa took over and handled the proceeding like the pro she was. Although the prosecutor argued against bail on the basis of the defendant’s past record, and her wealth, which would permit her to easily leave the country, Lisa beat him at every turn. Glory’s arrest records were ancient history and should not be permitted to taint this case. The judge ruled in her favor after asking for Glory’s passport to be surrendered. Just as Lisa had expected.
As for bail, the evidence provided by the prosecution was circumstantial at best, and Lisa put it before the court that Glory could easily be an innocent woman. The state’s case was not strong enough to deny bail, and again the judge agreed. Bail was set at a million dollars, and Chandler wrote a check for that amount. His expediency at this juncture made a good impression on Lisa; he must truly believe in his wife’s innocence. The final task was to set a date for the preliminary hearing, which the judge did without preamble. It was over. Chandler escorted his wife out and Lisa followed them into the corridor.
Not that Lisa expected any great gestures, but neither Glory nor Chandler thanked her, so she spoke coolly and professionally to them. “We have about six weeks until the prelim, and I will be investigating every nook and cranny of your lives during that time. Expect to see a lot of me and possibly Hal Hannigan, an investigator who works for the firm. I intend to interview everyone who works in your home, your friends, along with close friends of the victim’s.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Chandler said sharply.
“No. If you want your wife free instead of growing old in jail…or worse—Illinois has a death penalty, you know—then nothing or no one is off limits to me. If there’s anything at all about that night that you haven’t told me, please give some serious thought to doing so right away. I’m prepared to listen at any time, and you have my phone numbers. We’ll talk again soon. Goodbye.”
She walked away with her back straight and her head high. She was outside when someone called her name. Turning, she saw Kurt Sandoval heading toward her. Her mood changed drastically, although deep down she wondered if she would ever be the same after being forced to huddle for several hours in a crowded courtroom with two snobs like Glory and Chandler.
“Hi,” she called before he reached her. “I saw you in the hallway, but everyone was so lost in the crowd there wasn’t an opportunity to say hello.”
“Yeah, I’m here on the Garrow case. You know, the one where the guy killed the three hookers?”
Lisa nodded. “How’s it going?”
“We’ve got him. By the way what’d you think of the ME’s report on the Witherington case?”
She had received a copy of the autopsy report from the prosecutor’s office. “It seems pretty straightforward to me. The vic was shot once and killed.”
“Shot in the back, Lisa.”
She frowned. “Yes, in the back. That could mean he never saw or even knew his killer, Kurt.”
“It could also mean that he trusted whoever pulled the trigger.”
“I’ll tell you what it does mean to me at this juncture…that both the prosecution and defense teams have a lot of work to do before trial.”
“She did it, Lisa.”
“You have absolutely no proof of that, and you definitely shouldn’t be talking that way to me. It’s not even your case.”
Kurt grinned, and he looked so damned cute that Lisa felt sexual tingles moving around in her body. “I shouldn’t be talking to you at all,” Kurt said. “This is war. You know it, I know it, and we’re on opposite sides. But how can I resist your many charms?”
She felt her face color and become warm. “You’re really full of it today, Sandoval. Maybe you should figure out why a courtroom full of alleged criminals and legal types turn you on.”
He laughed. “Long legs and blond hair turn me on, sweetheart.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Really. Now that you mention it, I did see a lawyer that fits that description very well. I believe his name is Aaron Richardson.” She tossed her head at him and walked away, listening to him chuckle all the way to the curb, where she hailed a taxi.
What a cad he was! Married and coming on to her. Well, she’d handled him well enough, hadn’t she? But damn him, anyhow. How dare he be the only man who could thrill her with a look when he had absolutely no right to even cast his eyes in her direction?
She leaned forward, gave the driver her home address and fell back against the seat. God, she was tired, she thought, and by the time she got home, she faced total exhaustion. A leisurely hot bath helped and so did some hot food, although it was a chore to even enter the kitchen knowing she had to cook something.
Still, she was thinking more clearly and feeling much better when she finally climbed the stairs to her home office. First, she retrieved voice mail messages from her phone at the firm. There were three: one each from Grant Gowan, Pamela and Larry. She listened to each and made notes. Grant’s words were flirtatious and suggesting another date, Pamela had merely wondered what was going on with her, but Larry’s message got her blood pumping.
“Lisa, I know you’re in court so I’ll skip a call to your cell. I just wanted to bring you up to speed on what we discussed this morning…you know…Witherington history? Well, it’s like this. I believe I found proof of a connection between the Witherington name and some of Chicago’s underworld figures. Chandler Sr., especially. I know the old guy is dead, but I can’t help wondering if his son has carried on a family tradition. I’ll let you know what I turn up.”
With her heart beating a mile a minute, Lisa dialed her mother’s number. “This is just a quick call tonight, Mom. I’m truly done in, but I never could have gone to sleep without hearing your voice first.”
Claudia understood and they only said a few words before signing off. Lisa doused the lights and crawled into bed. Her pulse was still racing from Larry’s message. My Lord, she thought, was Chandler Witherington connected to the Chicago mob? And if so, had Mateo’s death been set up by Chandler, even though he had the perfect alibi of having been hundreds of miles away? Maybe he hadn’t liked a gardener sleeping with his wife?
It was a theory with teeth, she realized, one that could not be discarded without further investigation.
“Thank God for Larry,” she murmured, her last words before sleep took her.
Chapter 4
Lisa was usually awake in the morning before her alarm went off. In fact, her alarm clock was merely a precautionary measure. So when it started buzzing somewhere in the background of a vague and shadowy dream, it took her a while to figure out what exactly was happening.
“Good Lord,” she said aloud, fumbling around on the night table until she found and stopped the noise of the alarm. What time was it, anyway, and how had she managed to sleep so late?
“First, some coffee,” she said as she padded down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Once she got the coffee brewing, she went to the front door. Finding the newspaper every morning was usually a new and interesting challenge. For whatever reason, the person who delivered her paper couldn’t quite seem to locate the front porch of her house. He could, however, find the bushes that ran under her living room window or the flower bed at the front corner of her property. As she opened the door, she wondered where the paper would be today.
It took only a moment to spot it. It was laid out neatly on the porch, her face peering up at her from the front page.
“What the hell…?”
Her picture was not the only one. Next to it was one of Glory and next to her was a picture of Chandler. The headline read Chicago Heiress Arrested For Murder.