Ellie led Julia through the main room, past the twin jail cells with their open doors and empty bunks, to an open door. On it was a brass plaque that read: CHIEF.
Ellie went in first. Almost immediately there were voices; hers a little too fast, his gravelly and low.
Julia took a deep breath and followed her sister into the office.
There were things to notice, of course—bookcases and a desk, and family photos—but all Julia saw was George Azelle.
She might not have recognized him on the street or in a crowd, but she remembered him now. Tall, dark, and deadly. That was how the press had characterized him, and it was easy to see why. He stood well over six feet, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. His handsome face was all sharp angles and deep hollows and bruiselike shadows; the kind of face that darkened easily into anger. Black hair, threaded with gray, hung almost to his shoulders. His was the kind of face that launched a woman’s dreams, although he looked worn.
“You’re the doctor,” he said. There was an accent in that voice, an elongation of syllables that made her think of Louisiana and bayous, of hot, decadent places and conversations that went on long into the night. “I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for my little girl. How is she?”
Julia moved forward quickly, almost jerkily, and held out her hand. His handshake was firm, maybe even a little more than that.
“And you’re the murderer,” she said, drawing her hand back. She had a sudden urge to wash the feel of him away. “A murder-one conviction, if I remember correctly.”
His smile faded. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out an envelope, and tossed it on Ellie’s desk. “To make an extremely long story short, the Court of Appeals reversed the trial court’s denial of a Motion to Dismiss. It was a sufficiency of evidence thing. The Supreme Court agreed. I was released last week.”
“On a technicality.”
“If you consider innocence a technicality. I came home one day and my family was gone.” His voice cracked. “I never knew what happened to them. The cops decided I was a murderer and that was it. They ignored any other evidence.”
Julia had no answer to that. She tried desperately not to feel all this, but panic was stalking her. “She can’t survive without me.”
“Look, Doc, I’ve been locked up for years. I have a big house on Lake Washington and enough money to hire the best care for her, so let’s not beat around the bush. I need to show the world she’s alive, so I want her. Now.”
She stared at him, actually shocked by that. “If you think I’m going to just hand Alice over to a murderer, you’re crazy.”
“Who the hell is Alice?”
“That’s what we named her. We didn’t know who she was.”
“Well, you know now. She’s my daughter and I’ve come to take her home.”
“You’re kidding, right? For all I know, you were behind the whole thing. You wouldn’t be the first man to sacrifice a child to get rid of a wife.”
She saw a flash of something in his eyes. He closed the small distance between them. “I know who you are, too, Doc. I’m not the only one here with a shady past, am I? Do you really want a public fight?”
“Anywhere,” she said, holding her ground. “You don’t scare me.”
He towered over her, whispered, “Tell Brit I’m on my way.”
“I won’t let you have her.”
His breath was warm and soft against her temple. “We both know you can’t stop me. Washington courts are pro-reunification of the family. See you in court.”
As soon as he was gone, Julia sank onto a cold, hard chair. Her whole body was trembling. George Azelle was right; the Washington State courts valued reunification of the family over almost everything else.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Ellie said.
“Talking won’t help.”
Thinking will.
She took a deep breath. “I need information on his case.”
“He gave me this.” Ellie pushed a stack of papers across the desk.
Julia took the papers and tried to read. Her hands were trembling so badly that the letters shimmied on the white pages.
“Jules—”
“Give me a minute,” Julia said, hearing the desperate edge in her voice. It was taking every scrap of self-control she had to not start screaming or crying, and looking into her sister’s sad eyes or hearing comforting words might push her into despair. “Please.”
She focused on the documents. They represented the bare bones of the procedural history. The original Motion to Dismiss the case, made by Azelle’s attorney at the close of the state’s case in chief; the denial of that motion; the Appellate Court’s reversal and the State Supreme Court’s agreement with the reversal and dismissal. Of all of them, the one that mattered most to Julia was the original certification for determination of probable cause, which outlined the facts of the state’s case.