Diana was looking forward to getting her co-worker’s opinion on several aspects of the murder case
But first she had to get things moving on Connie Pearce’s defense, which meant this meeting with the private investigator couldn’t be delayed. Still, the second she saw the man waiting for her at reception, she came to an immediate stop.
He was in his early thirties, over six feet and wearing a hand-tailored suit that emphasized his wide shoulders and long legs. His thick, dark hair had been sculpted, not cut. His Technicolor blue eyes and wide-screen smile could easily stop a female heart at fifty feet.
He was Jack Knight. No wonder the receptionist had been so breathless. White Knight Investigations had sent her an actor!
Diana cursed to herself. What in the hell was she going to do now?
Dear Reader,
Courtroom dramas—where talented legal adversaries match wits and reveal shocking new evidence with every witness they call to the stand—have always been favorites of mine.
But once I had a chance to work on real criminal defenses, I met the unseen and unsung heroes of the legal process—private investigators. Without the skillful and dedicated private investigator tracking down both evidence and crucial witnesses, most defense attorneys wouldn’t have the proverbial leg to stand on in a courtroom.
This is a story about a defense attorney and a private investigator fighting to free an accused woman. But it isn’t full of the dramatics played out in front of judge and jury. Rather, the story focuses on how the two work together to build their case before the trial starts. Because the truth is that’s how a case gets won—or lost.
Now one expects defense attorney Diana Mason to win her case. Jack Knight of White Knight Investigations is her only hope. But what can Jack do when eyewitnesses verify the defendant committed the crime, and the defendant herself admits she did it? You might be surprised.
I hope you enjoy Jack and Diana’s story. Drop a SASE in the mail to me (at P.O. Box 284, Seabeck, WA 98380) and I’ll send you an autographed sticker for the front of your book.
Warmly,
M.J. Rodgers
For the Defense
M.J. Rodgers
For MARGUERITE DUCHARME,
because her heart is filled with love.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
JACK KNIGHT COULD THINK of at least a dozen other places he’d rather be about now.
He rested his shoulder against the cold stucco wall as he watched the entrance to the gambling casino. The wind swirled rain up his nose and whipped the soggy rope of long, black hair against his neck. His pinched toes ached inside the beat-up triangle-toed boots he’d dug out of the Goodwill rejection bin. The chilly night air seeped through his threadbare overcoat, sending shivers up his back.
Being a private investigator was such cushy, glamorous work.
It was almost midnight. A minute before, he’d stood at the casino’s window, watching the man cash in his chips and the woman heading for the rest room. They should be along anytime. Jack made sure the video camera lens was peeking through the enlarged buttonhole in the front of his ragged overcoat, his fingers firmly on the controls inside the torn pocket.
Places! Camera! Action! The words echoed in his head bringing a wry smile of amusement to his lips. A rain-drenched Indian Reservation was about as far away from a dry and comfortable television studio as a guy could get.
When the doors to the casino burst open, he tensed in anticipation.
The couple staggered out. The man’s face was flushed from too many drinks, the woman’s from having to lug him around for the past hour. His heavy arm was draped over her sagging shoulders. As they hobbled by, the woman’s eyes scanned Jack.
He knew what her look meant. She’d hold on to the man she was with only until a better offer came along.
When she was close enough to make out his filthy features in the shadows, Jack sent her a toothless grin. The woman grimaced and quickly turned back to her companion.
Jack’s grin faded as the couple headed toward the Lexus at the curb. This man and woman were such a pathetic cliché. Not even a burned-out soap writer would sink into the banality of including their characterizations in a script.
After using a keyless remote control to open the car door, the woman dumped her drunken companion onto the passenger seat and circled around to get behind the wheel.
When she drove away, Jack turned off the video camera. He didn’t need to follow them. He’d already filmed them in a body-crunching clinch that morning at the SEA-TAC airport. He’d shot more footage of them that afternoon mauling each other on the open patio of the condo where the woman was living and chronicled their subsequent evening out on the town. Considering how much bourbon the man had put away, Jack doubted he’d be capable of any more debauchery tonight.
Not that it mattered. Jack had the conclusive proof his client needed. Her husband’s business trip to Washington State was an excuse to meet with his mistress. The guy hadn’t even gone to see the employees at his new Seattle branch office.
Jack sprinted through the rain to the old blue pickup at the far corner of the casino parking lot. Once settled on the driver’s seat, he pulled the wet black wig off his head and carefully hung it up to dry on the hook beside him. A private eye had to take good care of his props.
Sometimes on nights like this, he missed his life in show business. Sure, he’d played some villainous parts, but at least at the end of those days, he didn’t have to deal with a flesh-and-blood victim.
His client was a scared Idaho housewife who had recently seen the last of her five children leave home. She had a high-school education and no marketable skills. A vague feeling of unease had generated her call to Jack. All she really wanted him to do was relieve her mind.
He wasn’t going to be able to do that. Her husband was not only cheating on her, he was also planning to divorce her to be with his twenty-five-year-old mistress.
Jack had found a bank account the guy had taken out in his name only the year before. A lot of cash had since been deposited into that account. The condo where he’d stashed his mistress was also in his name only, as was the Lexus she was driving.
No doubt in Jack’s mind that the guy was hiding other assets as well so that when he sprang the divorce on his wife he could cheat her out of as much community property as possible. The best his wife could do was to get a good lawyer and get her husband before he got her.
And that’s how their thirty-year marriage would end.
Jack grabbed some hand wipes and worked at