She was right. It had taken eight hours with only the two promised fifteen minute breaks and a couple of outbursts from the now ex-husband, but Wallis’ client had walked out with custody of the children and her name back. The property had been split up months ago during a screaming match in their driveway.
Mr. Hicks’ client had child support and visitation set up for him, against his protests and had stormed out ahead of everybody. Wallis knew Judge Henderson didn’t veer from the tables set up for these kinds of decisions, even though he could have, but she was used to the complaints about being taken. Sometimes it was her client, sometimes it wasn’t. She had a feeling both of these parties would be back, time and again, to let the courts iron out what they had never learned how to discuss.
“Where do I go from here?” the woman had asked Wallis, suddenly looking lost. So much of her life had been taken up with first a bad marriage and then a bad divorce.
“That’s for you to figure out, which I know you can. Start with the children and work from there,” said Wallis. “Call me if you have any problems,” she said, turning to leave. Wallis knew not to hold anyone’s hand for long after the decisions came down no matter how much she might like the client. People who gave into seeing themselves as victims never got around to a thank you anyway.
“Hello Wallis.”
It was Richard Bach, walking toward the courthouse.
“Richard, late night?”
“No, left a file behind,” he said, smiling evenly, his bright-white teeth never giving away too much. Wallis noticed he was wearing a small American flag pin with a white background, trimmed in gold.
“Nice pin, Richard.”
“Thank you,” he said, smiling harder. “I wear it with pride. Have a good night,” he said, as he stepped around Wallis.
“Richard?”
Richard Bach stopped and turned back to Wallis. “Do you know Lilly Billings? Ray’s wife, that man who killed himself?”
“No, sorry. I have to run before they close up for the night. Good night.”
Wallis noticed the small shake in Richard’s shoulders when she said Lilly’s name.
She got into her car and felt for the file underneath the seat. It had been stupid to leave it in the car, she thought, but she wasn’t sure what to do with it. The thumb drive was still in her pocket. She started the engine and called home.
“Hey,” she said, relaxing at the sound of Norman’s voice. “I’m just leaving court. Yeah, it was Judge Henderson. Two pee breaks, that was it. Is that you laughing? Yeah, I guess we won. How’s Ned? She loved his robot? Give him a kiss for me. I saw Stanley. He was only a little informative. Yeah, it was strange, I don’t know. We can talk about it when I get home. I think someone was following Stanley. No, no, I’m okay. I love you too. It’s Bunko night and I’m late already. I’ll see you after the girls. Wait up, okay?”
Norman hung up the phone, wondering if he should have told his wife about Mr. Blazney. He went back to the front door to speak to the detective.
“Sorry, Arnold, just my wife checking in. I’m sorry I can’t help you. Where did they find his body?”
“In Deep Run Park near the playground in the middle of one of the soccer fields. Looks like he was hit by some kind of SUV that didn’t stick around. Any idea why he’d be that far from home still in pajamas?”
“No,” said Norman, rubbing the back of his head. “Unless he was walking Happy, his yellow Lab. Is she okay?”
“Yeah, we found her in their back yard safe and sound, her leash still on her.”
“You think some kids were joyriding and accidentally hit poor old Larry and left him there to die?”
“I might, except for a couple of things.”
“What’s that?”
“The human bone found in the cuff of Mr. Blazney’s pajamas and the human remains found in Happy’s stomach.”
Chapter Fourteen
It was Angie Estaver’s turn to host the monthly Bunko game. Her house was in the same neighborhood as Wallis, set at the opposite edge of the subdivision. It sat on the corner of Star Lane Way in a cul de sac, backed up by a thick stand of trees that blocked a lot of the noise coming from nearby Ridgefield Drive. Most of the yard stretched out on the left side of the yellow-paneled Colonial hemmed in by a split rail fence. A portable basketball hoop was parked in the street near their driveway.
A cluster of mini-vans, SUV’s and smaller sedans were already parked near the Estaver house. Wallis was the last to arrive. She parked in front of the small L-shaped rancher next door and made her way up the brick path, pushing the car key’s button over her shoulder to lock the Jag as she hurried along in the dark.
She was so intent on her path she didn’t see the man coming out of the shadows until he was almost in her path. She sucked her breath in hard, stopping and bracing herself. The man hesitated and took a step back, his face still too deeply in the shadows for Wallis to be able to get a good look.
“Wallis Jones,” he said in a calm, confident voice, with the slightest trace of an accent. “We need to talk.”
“Take another step back,” she said, trying to sound menacing. “What is it you want?”