Best Kept Secrets

A confession from the real killer--because I'm convinced,

 

beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Bud Hicks did not murder

 

my mother--is a pipe dream. There's also the slim possibility

 

of smoking out an eyewitness."

 

"Slim to none, Alex."

 

"Why?"

 

"You've done enough homework, so you should know.

 

The murder took place in a barn on Angus Minton's ranch.

 

Say his name anywhere in that county and the ground trembles.

 

He's a big enchilada. If there was an eyewitness, he

 

wouldn't testify against Minton because he'd be biting the

 

hand that feeds him. Minton runs about a dozen enterprises

 

in an area of the state where they're gasping their last breath,

 

economically speaking.

 

' 'Which brings us to another delicate area, in a case riddled

 

with delicate areas." Greg slurped his coffee and lit another

 

cigarette. "The governor's racing commission just gave Minton

 

Enterprises the green light on building that horse-racing

 

track in Purcell County."

 

"I'm well aware of that. What bearing does it have?"

 

"You tell me."

 

"None!" she shouted.

 

"Okay, I believe you. But if you start slinging accusations

 

and casting aspersions on one of Texas's favorite sons, how

 

do you think that's going to sit with the governor? He's damn

 

proud of his racing commission. He wants this pari-mutuel

 

thing to get off the ground without a hitch. No controversy.

 

No bad press. No shady deals. He wants everything above

 

reproach and squeaky clean.

 

"So, if some smart-ass prosecutor starts shooting off her

 

mouth, trying to connect somebody his hand-picked commission

 

has given their coveted blessing to with a murder,

 

the governor is going to be royally pissed off. And if said

 

prosecutor works in this office, who do you think he's going

 

to be the most pissed off at? Moi."

 

Alex didn't argue with him. Instead, she calmly said, "All

 

right. I'll resign from this office and do it on my own."

 

 

 

"Jesus, you're theatrical. You didn't let me finish." He

 

pressed his intercom button and bellowed to his secretary to

 

bring him more coffee. While she was carrying it in, he lit

 

another cigarette.

 

"On the other hand," he said around a gust of smoke, "I

 

can't stand that bastard who's living in the governor's mansion.

 

I've made no secret of it, and it works both ways, though

 

the sanctimonious sonofabitch won't admit it. It would tickle

 

me pissless to watch him squirm. Can you imagine nun justifying

 

why his commission picked, from the hordes of applicants,

 

somebody associated with a murder?" He chuckled.

 

"I get a hard-on just thinking about it."

 

Alex found Greg's motivation distasteful, but she was ecstatic

 

that he was granting her permission. "So, I can reopen

 

the case?"

 

"The case remains unsolved because Hicks was never

 

brought to trial." He lowered his feet, and his chair rocked

 

forward jarringly. "I have to tell you, though--I'm doing

 

this against my better judgment, and only because I trust your

 

gut instincts. I like you, Alex. You proved yourself when

 

you were interning here as a law student. Great ass aside,

 

you're good to have in our corner."

 

He looked down at the material she'd compiled and fiddled

 

with a corner of one folder.' 'I still think you've got a personal

 

grudge against these guys, the town, whatever. I'm not saying

 

it's unjustified. It's just not something you can build a case

 

around. Without this shrink's affidavit, I would have turned

 

down your request. So, while you're out there where the

 

buffalo roam and the deer and antelope play, remember that

 

my ass is in a sling, too." He raised his eyes and stared at

 

her balefully. "Don't fuck up."

 

"You mean, I can go to West Texas?"

 

"That's where it happened, isn't it?"

 

"Yes, but what about my caseload?"

 

"I'll put interns on the preparations and ask for postponements

 

Meanwhile, I'll talk to the D.A. in Purcell. We were

 

in law school together. He's perfect for what you're trying

 

 

 

to do. He's not too bright, and he married above himself, so

 

he's always striving to please. I'll ask him to give you whatever

 

assistance you need."

 

"Don't be too specific. I don't want them forewarned."

 

"Okay."

 

"Thank you, Greg," she said earnestly.

 

"Not so fast," he said, snuffing her enthusiasm. "If you

 

trap yourself out there, I'll disclaim you. The attorney general

 

has made no secret that I'm his heir apparent. I want the job,

 

and I'd like nothing better than to have a good-looking, smart

 

broad as chief of one of my departments. That goes down

 

good with the voters." He pointed a nicotine-stained finger

 

at her. "But if you fall on your ass now, I never knew you,

 

kiddo. Got that?"

 

"You're an unscrupulous son of a bitch."

 

He grinned like a crocodile. "Even my mama didn't like

 

me much."

 

"I'll send you a postcard." She turned to leave.

 

"Wait a minute. There's something else. You've got thirty

 

days."

 

"What?"

 

"Thirty days to come up with something."

 

"But--"

 

"That's as long as I can spare you without the rest of the

 

natives around here getting restless. That's longer than your

 

hunch and flimsy leads warrant. Take it or leave it."

 

"I'll take it."

 

He didn't know that she had a much more pressing deadline,

 

a personal one. Alex wanted to present her grandmother

 

with the name of Celina's killer before she died. She wasn't

 

even concerned that her grandmother was in a coma. Somehow,

 

she would penetrate her consciousness. Her last breath

 

would be peaceful, and Alex was certain she would at last

 

praise her granddaughter.

 

Alex leaned across Greg's desk. "I know I'm right. I'll

 

bring the real killer to trial, and when I do, I'll get a conviction.

 

See if I don't."

 

 

 

"Yeah, yeah. In the meantime, find out what sex with a

 

real cowboy is like. And take notes. I want details about spurs

 

and guns and stuff."

 

"Pervert."

 

"Bitch. And don't slam--ah, shit!"

 

 

 

Alex smiled now, recalling that meeting. She didn't take

 

his insulting sexism seriously because she knew she had his

 

professional respect. Wild man that he was, Greg Harper had

 

been her mentor and friend since the summer before her first

 

semester of law school, when she had worked in the prosecutor's

 

office. He was going out on a limb for her now, and

 

she appreciated his vote of confidence.

 

Once she had gotten Greg's go-ahead, she hadn't wasted

 

time. It had taken her only one day to catch up on paperwork,

 

clear her desk, and lock up her condo. She had left Austin

 

early, and made a brief stop in Waco at the nursing home.

 

Merle's condition was unchanged. Alex had left the number

 

of the Westerner where she could be reached in case of an

 

emergency.

 

She dialed the D. A.'s home number from her motel room.

 

"Mr. Chastain, please," she said in response to the woman's

 

voice who answered.

 

"He's not at home."

 

"Mrs. Chastain? It's rather important that I speak with

 

your husband."

 

"Who is this?"

 

"Alex Gaither."

 

She heard a soft laugh. "You're the one, huh?"

 

" 'The one'?"

 

"The one who accused the Mintons and Sheriff Lambert

 

of murder. Pat was in a tailspin when he got home. I've never

 

seen him so--"

 

"Excuse me?" Alex interrupted breathlessly. "Did you

 

say Sheriff Lambert?"