Cold Target Page 5

  “She called in. A flat tire. She’ll be late.”

  Meredith nodded. Becky, too, was a jewel. She had been one of Meredith’s first clients and had testified against her boss. She’d lost her job, and Meredith had snatched her up. They were both very happy with the arrangement.

  “The favor?” Sarah prompted.

  Meredith didn’t answer directly. “Any calls this morning?”

  “Nothing urgent. You have the women’s shelter this afternoon. I cancelled everything but that.”

  Meredith nodded. The shelter was a commitment she intended to keep. “And you?”

  “Mrs. Evans’s will. I wanted it ready for you to look at, then we can call her in. I’ll work with Mrs. Abbot on compiling a list of marital assets. She believes her husband is hiding some. Mary Golden called to say she won’t press charges against her husband. And we need more information on the wife in the Keyeses’ custody battle. Want to call Doug in?”

  Doug Evers was an investigator they used now and then. He was a former cop who was competent enough, though she continually had to warn him not to use illegal means in her cases. He’d never learned to recognize the line he shouldn’t cross.

  “I’ll talk to Robert Keyes and see if he can afford it,” Meredith said.

  She hesitated, then added, “The favor … it’s a personal matter.”

  Sarah waited.

  Meredith started hesitantly, “Before she lapsed into a coma yesterday, my mother told me that she’d had another child. A girl. She was born in Memphis in February 1970. She asked me to find her.”

  “My God,” Sarah said. “You didn’t know?”

  “I had no idea.”

  “But why now?”

  “She wants the two of us to share the trust.”

  “Wow. That must have been a blow.”

  “Not the way you think. I inherited my house from my grandmother and I have a fairly good income from this practice. The blow came in discovering that she cared so much … and never let me know. I could have helped her then. Now there is so little information.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Try to find her.”

  A pause. Then, “What can I do to help?”

  “Search for a birth certificate for a daughter born of Marguerite Thibadeau.”

  “The father?”

  “I don’t know,” Meredith admitted. “I’m hoping this will be easy and something helpful might be on the birth certificate. Try to find any records of an adoption. If you can’t locate any, give me a list of adoption agencies in and around Memphis as well as attorneys who were known to handle private adoptions.”

  “I can do that,” Sarah said.

  “I know you can,” Meredith said, looking down at her hands. They were clenched. She hoped Sarah didn’t notice. “You’re a treasure.”

  Sarah grinned “You pay me to be a treasure. What does your dad know about the baby?” Sarah asked, suddenly changing the subject.

  “He says I shouldn’t ‘rummage around in the past’ and destroy my mother’s reputation. He also says it’s none of my business, that I should let it go. He thought I should worry about my own inheritance.”

  “Most people would,” Sarah said.

  “I would rather have a sister.”

  “So you think we can eliminate your father as the father of the child?” Sarah said.

  “Most definitely.”

  “But he knows something about it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Would your grandfather have been involved?”

  “Most certainly. She was only seventeen. She said she was sent somewhere in Memphis.”

  “Do you have any relatives in that area?”

  “A great-aunt used to live there. She died three years ago.”

  “Was she married?”

  “Yes, but I think her husband died before her.”

  “Do you have an address?”

  “I can probably find it in my mother’s address book or … somewhere.” She stopped suddenly, realizing that she had no idea how her mother kept that kind of information. “The name was Warren, I think. Sylvia Warren. I think her husband’s name was Bob.”

  “Probably Robert then. What did he do?”

  “I think he was a builder. I never met him. I met my aunt when she came to my grandmother’s funeral.”

  “That’s a little strange, don’t you think? That you didn’t see more of her. New Orleans isn’t that far from Memphis.”

  “I never really thought of it. I remember liking her when I met her, but I never questioned why we didn’t see her again. It was my mother’s aunt and I had the impression my father didn’t care for her. In any event, he was never strong on family or sentimentality.”

  Sarah nodded. She knew Charles Rawson’s reputation. And her employer’s reticence on the subject spoke volumes.

  “Did they have children? If so, they might remember something if your mother did stay with her aunt.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Sarah raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

  “Mother never talked about her,” Meredith said defensively.

  “Did you two ever talk about anything?”

  “No, I guess we didn’t. Not really. She was always busy. And even when she was home, she wasn’t. Not really. Not in spirit.” Pain and anger filled her again. Why had her mother waited until now to confide in her? How could her mother care so much about the child she’d given up and care so little about the one she’d kept? She swallowed past the lump in her throat. It was too late. Everything was too late. Too late to realize her mother had loved, that she had suffered. Too late to discover that her mother did feel emotion and maybe felt some for the daughter she had raised.

  Or had the lack of emotion been because she’d lost the daughter by a man she loved and was burdened with the one by the man she hated? That thought was excruciating.

  She was numb. She realized she had been numb ever since her mother had revealed her secret. The numbness had cloaked an anger so deep she could barely contain it. She looked at her hands and saw that they shook.

  She willed them to still.

  Sarah looked away.

  Meredith changed the subject. It was still too raw. “You’ve heard nothing from Nan?”

  “Nope. I think no news is good news.”

  Meredith agreed. The longer the time passed after a court order without contact, the better. Then she recalled the odd encounter in the courtroom. “Do you remember Gage Gaynor? He was a witness in a cop murder case I helped try.”

  “He’s hard to forget. Big. Brooding. Honest, I think.”

  Meredith hadn’t quite made up her mind about that yet. There had been rumors. Perhaps because he’d testified against a fellow cop. Or perhaps it was because of his cool green eyes that had been so difficult to read or the odd warm feelings he’d aroused in her. She hadn’t trusted them.

  “He was at the hearing.”

  Sarah looked surprised. “Did he say why?”

  “Just that it was official business. He got in a dig about L.L. and Tommy’s case.”

  “They were just kids.”

  “According to him, they were lowlifes unfit for a second chance.”

  “They were carrying drugs for a pittance. I think they learned their lesson.” Despite having worked for the DA, Sarah was the original bleeding heart. It was at her behest that Meredith had taken the case. She’d been moving more and more toward family law and farther away from criminal practice.

  The phone rang, but it stopped suddenly, and she knew Becky must have come into the office.

  Meredith went to the door and looked out. Becky gave her a short wave and silently mouthed to her, “Are you here?”

  “Who is it?” she mouthed back.

  “A Detective Gaynor.”

  “Speak of the devil,” Sarah muttered.

  For a moment, Meredith thought she must have conjured him. It was an unwelcome thought. But she nodded and went into h
er office. She picked up her phone. “Detective?”

  “I wondered whether Mrs. Fuller has had any more problems.”

  “No. Why?”

  “He had a warning. If he goes near her, let me know.”

  “Thank you. I’ll pass that on to Nan.” She paused. “Will there be departmental charges?”

  “No.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “If he were fired, who would he blame?”

  She was silent for a moment. He was right. A man with nothing to lose could be very dangerous. “And if he attacks someone else?”

  “As far as we know, he hasn’t. No complaints. He has a good record.”

  “Except for beating his wife.”

  “Look, Ms. Rawson, I don’t like it any more than you do, but he’ll be watched carefully now. One wrong step and he’s out. He knows that. But I think he would be far more dangerous to your client if he lost his job. He wouldn’t be able to find another in law enforcement. He would go after her for ruining his life.”

  “You sound as if you know that firsthand,” she said.

  “I do. A lady I liked a lot was killed that way.”

  She heard, or thought she heard, emotion in his voice. “Is that why you were in the courtroom?”

  “I was the one who recommended that he not contest the charges, or the divorce. I told him I’d better not be wrong in not pressing for departmental action. If he so much as calls Nan, let me know.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “You could have told me that then.”

  “Yep,” he said cheerfully.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because you were glaring at me.”

  She probably had been. She had been so sure he was there to support Fuller.

  “Just thought you should know.” He hung up.

  She stared thoughtfully at the phone in her hand. One question answered.

  She didn’t think she would be as lucky on the others.

  Why in the hell had he done that?

  Gage seldom explained himself, especially to an attorney.

  But he had seen the suspicion in her face and for some reason he wanted to explain. He had no idea why he mentioned April, the wife of his first partner.

  He hadn’t been able to save her, but perhaps he could save Nan Fuller. Perhaps his call would give Nan a little reassurance, and Gage intended to keep an eye on her soon-to-be ex-husband, even though it was no longer officially his job. He certainly hoped he had made a believer out of Rick Fuller.

  He had another reason as well. He had not been able to resist picking up the phone this morning. She had stayed in his thoughts last night. Meredith Rawson had the cool demeanor of a society belle, but the sparks in her blue eyes were those of a true crusader. He had never cared for either. Yet the combination appealed to him. As did the wide mouth and firm chin. They kept her from being a traditional beauty but gave her an intriguing quality that lingered in his mind.

  He replaced the phone in its cradle. Gorgeous eyes or not, she was not for him.

  So why had he bothered?

  He told himself he did it because of the Prescott case. She would have been around fifteen when the man died, and Prescott was a friend and acquaintance of her father. She might know something, even if she didn’t realize it.

  A leap in logic.

  An excuse.

  Dammit.

  He didn’t need the kind of grief he was tempting by even thinking of the woman in any way but a professional one.

  He picked up the phone again and called Dom Cross. Cross was one of the few people he trusted, perhaps because he was a maverick like himself. Cross ran a shelter for runaway and troubled boys in New Orleans. He was an ex-convict and made no secret of it. His background was one reason he’d been so successful with his young charges. He related to troubled kids far better than any establishment type could.

  Dom had tried to help Gage’s brother years ago but it had been too late. Clint had been too deeply involved in a gang to extricate himself. Because he’d had a cop as a brother, Clint had been given several passes by police who had found minute amounts of drugs on him. But then there was one time too many.

  Gage wished Clint had never received a pass on the first offense. Perhaps that lesson would have stopped the progression of drugs and gangs earlier. It was one reason he said what he had to Meredith Rawson about the release of L.L.

  “Gage!” Dom’s hearty voice boomed through the receiver. “Haven’t seen you for an age.”

  “Three weeks,” Gage corrected.

  “That’s an age.”

  Gage ignored Dom’s somewhat cavalier sense of time. “What about a pickup game this afternoon?”

  “I think I can round up a few of the usual suspects.”

  “Good. I’ll be there at six.”

  “Loser buys the drinks.”

  “A little confident, are you?”

  “I know which kids to pick.”

  “So do I.”

  “I have a surprise on my side. Some new kids. Pretty damn good. It’s what you get for finking out on me.”

  Gage chuckled. Dom had conned him into the pickup games two years ago. The kids needed a righteous cop as a good role model, he kept saying. Problem was Gage had doubts about his own righteousness.

  But he’d owed Dom for what he had tried to do for Clint. And damn if he didn’t just like the man. He was the most persuasive charmer Gage had ever met. And Dom genuinely cared about boys who had no one else who cared. And he made other people care.

  Gage also enjoyed athletics, particularly basketball. In high school, he’d played both basketball and football, then football in college until an injury had ended his pro hopes. And his scholarship.

  Those pickup games at the shelter were the only competition he had these days.

  “I’ll be there,” he said with some relish. He always enjoyed tromping Dom.

  five

  NEW ORLEANS

  Meredith stayed at the women’s shelter longer than she intended. She devoted at least one afternoon a week there to counsel the women on their legal options. Some, like Nan, she represented pro bono.

  The questions were always the same. Custody. Protective orders. The return of personal property. Marital and child support. The husband almost always had been the dominant member of the family and had controlled all finances and purchases. The wife rarely had any resources of her own.

  Today the list of questions was particularly long, and she hadn’t left until nearly eight.

  She headed for the hospital again.

  Her mother was the same. The private duty nurse was the same one who had been there the night before.

  At Meredith’s unspoken question, she shook her head. “No change, Ms. Rawson.”

  “She hasn’t been conscious at all?”

  “No.”

  “Is there any way we can wake her? Any stimulus?”

  Her expression gave Meredith the answer. Her oral answer, though, was more cautious. “You might discuss it with her doctor.”

  “Does she know I’m here?”

  “I don’t know,” the nurse said honestly. “There’s a theory that comatose patients feel the presence of loved ones, but no one really knows.”

  The answer didn’t comfort, or absolve, Meredith. Everyone should have someone with them. Someone they loved. Someone who loved them.

  Now it was only her.

  “Why don’t you go out to supper?” she asked the nurse. “I’ll stay with her until you get back.”

  “Why, thank you,” the nurse said, then hesitantly added, “If you think it’ll be all right with your father?”

  Meredith wondered whether her father had bullied her like he bullied so many others. “Of course it is,” she said. “I’ll ring for a nurse if there’s any problem.”

  “Then I’ll do as you suggest. I’ll be back within an hour.”

  “Take longer if you like.” Meredith waited until the woman disappeared out the door before she took
the chair next to her mother. She needed the time to think, to grieve, even to vent her anger. She had been given a task by a mother who’d barely acknowledged her existence, and then disappeared into a coma without giving her the information she needed.

  “Dammit,” she said to the still figure. “Don’t do this to me. Give me something to go on.”

  But the figure on the bed did not move.

  Meredith wanted to scream at her. Why now? Why wait until it’s too late?

  “Why didn’t you care about me?” That question escaped her lips. She heard the plea in it. One that had echoed in her mind for so many years. The area at the backs of her eyes felt heavy with moisture, tears she was determined not to shed.

  “Why?” she asked again. “If you care so much about losing a daughter, why didn’t you love the one you had?” The pain was intense, the anger so powerful she could barely contain it. She wanted to shake her mother until she regained consciousness, until she could get some explanation. And yet she felt compelled to do this one last thing for her mother, despite the seeming hopelessness of finding someone lost thirty-three years earlier.

  Had her mother agreed to an adoption, only to regret it later? Or had the baby been taken from her? If so, how? There had to be paperwork somewhere. She couldn’t imagine her grandfather not making sure his grandchild went to someone safe. He’d always been possessive of everything in his life. He never threw anything out. The attic of her parents’ house, which her mother had inherited from her father, was filled with his papers.

  Perhaps she could find something there. Meredith decided to search her parents’ house on Friday. Her father would be in court, and the housekeeper usually did her shopping then.

  Meredith looked at her mother’s face. Peaceful now, but thin. And aged. She was only fifty. This shouldn’t be happening to her. If only she hadn’t waited so long to go to their doctor. But there had been this meeting or that meeting, this project or that charity ball.

  Meredith looked at the cards the nurse had handed her. Some had come with flowers. Other people had stopped in the room briefly. The cards included one from the mayor, several from members of the city governing board, one from the president of the symphony guild.

  Meredith knew them all. She’d met them at various functions hosted by her mother. She stopped at one card. Judge Samuel Matthews, a member of the Louisiana Supreme Court and one of the state’s most distinguished citizens. Some called him a kingmaker. Meredith had seen a photo of his daughter and her husband, a state senator and probable candidate for Congress, in the paper just a few weeks ago.