His voice was businesslike. Annoyingly normal. Comparing his calm tone to the nervous flutter in her stomach, Kristen grimaced. We have a name. Darryl Morris.
Darryl Morris? The calm tone in Sams voice disappeared. I know Darryl Morris. And now that I think of it, he just might think he has a damned good reason to hurt me.
Chapter Ten
Excitement pushed aside any lingering unease Kristen felt. Detective Foleys with me. Im putting you on speaker. She pushed the button. How do you know Darryl Morris?
About eight months ago, his teenage son was killed in a traffic accident. The other driver had been distracted by his kids, hadnt seen the light change to red, and he slammed into Charlie Morriss motorcycle. The kid didnt have a chance.
What does that have to do with you? Foley asked.
It was one of my first cases when I joined the Jefferson County D.A.s office. I was assigned to assess the case and see if any criminal charges should be filed.
And you didnt file any charges, Kristen guessed, beginning to understand.
Not criminal charges, Sam answered. We worked out a plea deal-the other driver pleaded down to reckless endangerment, was put on probation and did several hours of community service as well as taking a remedial driving course.
Kristen thought that sounded fair, given the circumstances. But she wasnt the father of a dead kid. Morris didnt think it was enough, right?
His only kid was dead. I dont think anything would have been enough. There was a hint of bleak understanding in Sams voice, and Kristen knew he was thinking about Maddy.
Did Darryl Morris ever threaten you? Send you any angry letters? Foley asked.
He was definitely upset when we told him about the plea deal. There might have been an angry letter or two-Ill have to check my files. But I dont remember ever feeling as if he were any kind of real threat to me.
Can you meet us at your office? Kristen asked. Id like to take a look at any letters Morris might have sent.
Ill have to bring Maddy. I dont feel like letting her out of my sight today.
She glanced at Foley. Thats okay-Foley can use the extra babysitting practice.
Foley made a face at her. Id better track down Morris, make sure hes not making a Mexico trip or something.
I could do that, Kristen said quickly.
Actually, Detective Tandy, I need to see you about another matter anyway, Sam interjected.
Kristen ignored Foleys curious look, heat rising up her neck. I can be in Birmingham in about an hour, she said, knowing that further protest would only pique her partners interest more.
See you then. Sam rang off.
Are you blushing? Foley asked.
She frowned at him. What?
He looked ready to tease her further but stopped himself. Ill drop you back at the station to pick up your car.
She spent most of the drive to Birmingham dreading her arrival, worrying over the other matter Sam wanted to talk to her about. Was he going to want to do an extensive postmortem of her behavior the night before? She already knew shed thrown professionalism out the window. And his willing participation didnt change the fact that she was the one with the ethical constraints, not him. She was the cop. She was the one who should have behaved better.
The worst part was, she wasnt sure she regretted it enough. The memory kept creeping up on her when she least expected it, whether at a preshift meeting with Carl and Foley or listening to a preschool principal give her a new lead on the case. Even now, with the air conditioner running full blast and the police radio squawking now and then, she felt Sam Coopers warm lips moving with slow, devastating skill over hers as surely as if it had just happened.
She gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to drag her focus back to the case. She reached for the phone clipped to her waistband, thinking Foley might have had time to locate Darryl Morris by now. But before she even had a chance to flip it open, the phone rang, making her strained nerves jangle.
The number on the display was unfamiliar, an Alabama area code but not local. She flipped the phone open. Tandy.
Detective Tandy, this is Dr. Victor Sowell with Darden Secure Medical Facility. Im the psychiatrist in charge of your mothers case.
How did you get my number? she asked bluntly. If Carl had given the facility her number, she was going to kill him.
Your mother gave it to me.
Kristen felt the blood drain from her face. How the hell did she get it?
Im not certain. Its one reason I thought I should call you.
Kristen checked her mirrors and pulled over on the highway. She didnt want to have this conversation while navigating traffic. She put the car in Park and hit the blue light on the dash to flash. Tell me what happened. From the beginning.
I cant really discuss the details of your mothers treatment, Sowell answered. I can only tell you that shes been allowed some privileges recently. Visitors now and then. We allow her to make phone calls on a limited basis, and we monitor them to make sure shes not harassing anyone.
And is she?
Not that weve been able to ascertain. But she has had a visitor recently. A man showed up yesterday, introducing himself as a lawyer interested in offering her representation pro bono. He said he was with an organization that represents the mentally ill in criminal cases.
Kristen pulled out her notepad. Did you get a name?
Bryant Thompson. But thats really why I called, Dr. Sowell said, his voice troubled. We had someone check Thompsons credentials and that of his organization, Humane Justice, just to make sure he wasnt trying to pull some sort of scam. The organization exists, absolutely. Theres even a Bryant Thompson who works as an attorney with the group.
But?
But the guy who came to see your mother was definitely not the same Bryant Thompson.
DADDY, WHENS MISS KRISTEN gonna get here?
Sam looked up at the sound of his daughters plaintive voice, realizing hed been staring at the same page in the file for the last twenty minutes. Too easily, hed let his mind wander from the case at hand to the memory of Kristen Tandys warm, strong hands moving urgently over his body.
He cleared his throat. Anytime now, baby. Kristen had called back thirty minutes ago to let him know shed gotten held up and would be there as soon as she could.
He cleared his throat. Anytime now, baby. Kristen had called back thirty minutes ago to let him know shed gotten held up and would be there as soon as she could.
Shed sounded odd. Troubled. Probably upset about the lines theyd crossed the night before. He supposed he should be, too, but he couldnt bring himself to worry about ethical lapses when every cell in his body wanted to give it another go.
He just hoped hed have enough self-control to wait until Maddy wasnt watching.
He distracted himself by dialing the number of the ICU waiting room at the hospital where Cissy was being treated, asking to speak to someone with the Cooper family. His brother J.D. came to the phone.
Its me, Sam said. Just wanted to check on Cissy.
Shes moving around, J.D. said. He was trying to keep his voice calm-self-control was J.D. Coopers defining characteristic-but he couldnt mask an undertone of excitement. The doctor says it may be a sign shes coming out of the coma.
Sam felt a massive weight lift from his shoulders. Thats great news!
The doctors not sure how much shell remember, if anything, so I dont know if shell be able to help you catch the guy who did it, J.D. warned.
All that matters is getting her well. A knock sounded on his office door, and Maddy jumped to her feet at the noise. Go tell her that Maddy and I are rooting for her.
Will do, J.D. said.
Apparently tired of waiting for Sam to get off the phone, Maddy went to the door and opened it, throwing herself at Kristen Tandy with a squeal of excitement. Kristens wince, though quickly suppressed, made Sams stomach knot.
J.D., someones at the door. Ill call you later. Sam rang off and hurried to the door to peel his daughter off Kristens legs, swinging her up to his hip. Sorry about that.
Kristen shook her head. Just caught me by surprise.
Miss Kristen, come see what I drawed! Maddy held her hands out, her fingers wiggling with excitement, as if she could draw Kristen to her through sheer force of will.
Kristen pasted on a smile and caught one of Maddys flailing hands. Slow down, cupcake.
Why dont you finish it up while Miss Kristen and I talk? Then when were through, you can show it to both of us. Sam put Maddy down on the floor again.
Maddy looked ready to argue, but he gave her a gentle nudge toward the coffee table where shed been filling a couple of his spare legal pads full of squiggly drawings. With a long-suffering sigh, she picked up one of the highlighter pens hed given her to draw with and went back to work with renewed zeal, the tip of her tongue peeking through her cupids bow lips.
Sorry about the delay. Kristen settled into the armchair he indicated. He pulled up the chairs twin and turned it to face her, unwilling to have the bulk of his large oak desk between them.
Everything okay? he asked. She looked distracted.
Im not sure. She shook her head. Doesnt matter. Nothing to do with this case. Did you find any letters from Darryl Morris?
A couple. He handed her the letters hed culled from his files. The first one is pretty straightforward. Morris asks me to reconsider the plea deal. His tone is urgent but not particularly hostile.
I see that. She set that letter aside and picked up the second one. This ones not quite asdiplomatic.
No. In the second letter, Morris had informed Sam in angry language that hed contacted the mayor to lodge a formal complaint against Sam and the district attorneys office for their decision to make the plea bargain. He also informed Sam that if the D.A.s office didnt reverse the decision, hed contact the media, as well.
Did he contact the media? Kristen asked.
Probably. But Charlie Morris was a seventeen-year-old kid whod already been pulled over twice for speeding and who had just dropped out of high school because he didnt like all that school stuff. The driver of the other vehicle was a devoted father and husband who ran a popular pizza restaurant and volunteered at a homeless mission. Honestly, the media wouldnt have touched the story with a ten-foot pole.
And he never wrote you again?