Taken to the Edge

Robyn shrugged. “I don’t have one. I was at home, alone, sleeping like a baby while some animal preyed upon my child.” She swallowed, and her eyes glinted cold and hard.

Ford steeled himself not to react to her emotionally. If there was one thing he’d learned in law enforcement, it was that emotions played no part. Emotions led you to form opinions, and opinions led to bias and tunnel vision. His goal was always to remain open-minded, unbiased, uninvolved. If that made him come off as cold and unfeeling, too bad.

She took a gulp of her tea. “The cops questioned me at length, of course.”

“When something happens to a child, the parents are always the first suspects.”

“Yes, they explained that. I guess I must have convinced them I had nothing to do with it, because after a few days they stopped badgering me.”

“You think they focused in on Eldon pretty quickly?”

“Yes. Too quickly. They just didn’t like his story, didn’t like the way he was acting.”

Ford couldn’t help it. He flashed back to another time, early in his career, when he’d been called out to his first gang-related homicide. He’d been so eager to perform well, and he’d gone the extra mile, searching behind garages and around back porches in that seedy neighborhood, and he’d found a kid cowering in the bushes. Seventeen, wearing his colors, terrified.

Ford had made up his mind right there. He’d found the murderer. It was amazingly easy to do.

“People act all different ways when they become victims of crime,” Ford said. “Some fall apart, some seem perfectly composed but they don’t make sense, and some detach themselves from the crime completely and they come off as cold and uncaring.”

“That was Eldon. He was not one to show his messy emotions in public. They said he was cold.”

“It’s enough to bias the investigating cops against him.” Ford made a note to find those first cops on the scene and give them a good grilling. “Now then, what about this witness you mentioned?”

“He was an employee at the pizza place. Recently I talked with Mindy Hodges, who was night manager at the time. I’ve been tracking down witnesses one by one and speaking personally to them. She went over everything she could remember, and she mentioned an employee I never heard of—Roy. She doesn’t remember his last name. She says he was there. He spoke to the cops, yet I never heard his name before now.”

Ford made a note. Finding that witness would be first on his priority list.

They talked a long time. Hours. Ford persuaded Robyn to share his dinner, since there was plenty. By the time they were done, Ford had extracted every small memory Robyn had of the crime and the aftermath. He’d spent more time, focused exclusively on her, than he would have on a date. She’d been cautious at first, wary of saying something wrong. But gradually, as the hours passed, he wore down her caution and resistance until she quit censoring herself.

The challenging edge in her blue eyes softened.

Something else happened, though it was hardly unexpected. Ford found himself wanting her with the same intensity he’d felt in high school.

“Do you still smoke?” he asked abruptly, half hoping she would say yes. Nothing turned him off more than the smell of cigarettes on a woman.

“What?” She laughed. “Where did that come from?”

“I don’t know. I just remembered that you smoked in high school. Down by the Art Building.”

“How would you know what went on at the Art Building? You and your jock friends probably never set foot in there. Too afraid someone would think you were gay.”

True enough. He wouldn’t have been caught dead taking an art class. He’d taken music appreciation to satisfy his arts credits, and that was bad enough.

Ford shrugged. “I spied on you.”

“You mean, you were like a student narc?” she said, her distaste evident.

He shook his head. “No, that wasn’t it at all. I just liked to watch you.” He couldn’t believe he was telling her this. But the woman had just told him about her and Eldon’s sexual habits, and he’d shared nothing with her. Not that working this case had anything to do with mutual sharing. But he appreciated her frankness, and wanted to keep the honest line of communication open. A little confession on his part was good for his soul.

“You were a Peeping Tom.”

“I didn’t say I spied on you in the girls’ locker room.” So much for confession. Maybe it was better if he abandoned this line of conversation. He could interrogate the hardest of criminals, but when it came to sharing his own feelings, he was a washout. Kathy, his ex-wife, had pointed that out to him with annoying frequency. When she wasn’t badgering him to seek another promotion.

“I quit smoking when I got engaged to Eldon. He tried to make me over into someone worthy to be a Jas person.”

“How’d that work for him?”

“Not well enough, in his mother’s opinion. She thought a degree in art was useless, a career as a teacher was common. And working with disadvantaged kids? Repulsive. ‘God knows what sort of parasites and germs you bring home from work.’”

“I was blessed with a nice mother-in-law,” Ford said. That had been one of the worst things about the divorce—losing Stella along with Kathy.

“Was? You’re divorced?”

“I was something of a disappointment to my wife.”

Robyn studied him, as if trying to figure out exactly what his ex-wife had found lacking in him. He didn’t want to go there. It was a grocery list.

“It’s late,” he said, “and we have a long day tomorrow. Raleigh will get us the court order that will allow us access to all the evidence. When that happens, we’ll get media attention, so be prepared.”

“I hate reporters.”

“Reporters are our friends. They’re going to put the word out that we’re looking for information and that we’re willing to pay for it. Be nice to them.”

“If I have to. What should I do?”

“You figure out how to get Eldon to admit he was with someone that night. We’re going to visit him as soon as possible.”

“What about Trina? She was pretty upset. Should I try to talk to her?”

“Frankly, I consider Trina a loose cannon. I sure as hell don’t want her talking to Eldon about his indiscretions before we can get to him.”

Ford paid their check, refusing the money Robyn offered for her part. “I have an expense account.”

As they exited into another warm, muggy night, Robyn stopped suddenly. “Hell, I don’t have a way to get home. Trina was my ride.”

“I’ll take you.”

ROBYN HAD TRIED TO DISSUADE Ford from taking her home. She could have called a cab. But Ford had insisted, though it was far out of his way to drive all the way to Green Prairie.

She was glad he drove a large car. Even so, it felt crowded. The big, muscular kid she remembered had grown into a wide-shouldered, slim-hipped man without any extra pounds anywhere.

Built for speed.

That thought gave her a pleasurable shiver. Not that she’d want him to hurry… Oh, God, why was she thinking along those lines?

Learning that he’d watched her in high school had unnerved her. She’d watched him, too, stripped down to gym shorts and a cropped T-shirt on the football practice field, all sweaty. She’d loved to watch him move. He had an easy grace that most kids his age had lacked, a comfort with his own body. He hadn’t shown off and swaggered for the girls like some of his teammates, focusing on the drills with single-minded determination.

That was what she remembered most about Ford Hyatt—that concentration. If he took on a project, it got done. In the few classes they’d shared, he paid constant attention, took notes, asked questions. She remembered thinking how awesome it would be to have that attention focused on her.

Tonight she’d found out how it would feel. She should have been uncomfortable, pouring out the most intimate details of her life to him. Yet, after getting over her initial case of nerves, she’d felt okay talking to Ford. Good, even. It had been a relief to let down her guard and be perfectly honest—sort of the way she felt when she was throwing a pot or painting a picture.

She’d also felt more than one inappropriate shiver of desire. No man had ever really listened to her. Not the cops who’d interrogated her—they’d been more interested in putting words in her mouth and trying to catch her up. Certainly not Eldon, who wanted her to be the audience, soaking up his superior knowledge, following his instructions to better herself.

Being the sole focus of Ford’s attention had made her feel like she’d never felt before. She’d had a hard time remembering that this was the guy who’d once judged her so unfairly.

Robyn still burned every time she thought of that high school incident. She’d been trying so hard—so hard—to be good for once in her life. A two-month stay in a juvenile detention center had been an eye-opening experience, enough to convince her she did not want to hang around those people anymore, ever. She’d made big plans to change, to make something of herself.

And no one had noticed. Not her mother, who was way too wrapped up in her own problems. Not her teachers, who’d already made up their minds about her. Not her old friends, who had barely noticed that she wasn’t around anymore to smoke dope and spray-paint bridges.

But she kept on. And then came the unfair accusations, the humiliation of being accused of theft, the student government tribunal, which was run kind of like The People’s Court. And Ford, head of the tribunal, student body president, so smug as he’d handed down the tribunal’s decision.

She was kicked off the senior mural project. Looking back, it sounded silly that something so minor should still bother her. But her mural design had been chosen over a dozen others. It was the first time she’d excelled at anything, been chosen for anything, and she’d been as excited about it as a kid with her first finger paints. She’d been looking forward to having something positive to put on her college applications.

Ford had derailed all that.

She unearthed that old anger and held on tight to it as he drove her home. People like Ford could serve a purpose. That steel-spined sense of right and wrong, black and white and that dogged determination, were what she needed to free Eldon. But certainly no sane woman wanted a man like that in her personal life. No matter how good-looking he was. No matter how he made her stomach swoop.

Even if he was the first man to do so in years.

CHAPTER THREE

TWO DAYS LATER, ROBYN WAS getting antsy. After that first wave of urgency, Ford had become ominously silent. But when she got out of the shower that morning, the answering machine by her bed was flashing.

She pushed the button. “I have an appointment in Huntsville at two o’clock this afternoon,” came Ford’s no-nonsense voice. “I’ll pick you up at eleven. Wear something conservative.”

That was it. He didn’t identify himself, didn’t begin or end the message with pleasantries. Well, hell, it wasn’t as if they were going on a date, was it? They were visiting her ex-husband in prison. Hardly a romantic outing.

Just the same, she dressed with care. She didn’t have a lot of nice clothes. As an artist and art teacher, she tended to destroy clothes as fast as she could buy them, so jeans and T-shirts were the norm. But she did have a couple of outfits she’d worn to court. She chose her long, slim black skirt and a plain blue silk T-shirt, about as conservative as she could get.

In deference to the heat, she twisted her hair into a knot at the back of her head, holding it in place with a tortoiseshell comb. She refused to do stockings, but she wore high-heeled sandals.

She even wore makeup, something she didn’t bother with most days. Halfway through her mascara, she wondered whom she was trying to impress. But Ford had told her to be prepared for the media, and that was what she told herself—that she wanted to look good on camera.

She was absolutely, positively not primping for Ford. That would be ludicrous and kind of sick, as well. She was trying to save a man’s life.

Ford arrived promptly at eleven. Unfortunately, so did a TV van from Houston’s Channel 6. It pulled right behind Ford’s car, blocking him in.

Robyn hated reporters. She knew they weren’t all scumbags, but the ones who lurked around corners and tailed unsuspecting crime victims rated no better than hyenas in her book. At the time of Eldon’s trial, all they’d wanted from her was a sensational sound bite to crank up ratings.

Ford exited his car and faced the eager reporter and cameraman who’d leaped out of the van almost before it had stopped. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her purse and went to join him. He’d said they needed publicity to shake information out of the bushes. But she knew from experience how damaging the wrong sort of publicity could be. If public sentiment got whipped up against Eldon, the governor was far less likely to stay the execution.

The reporters—more than one—spotted her the moment she emerged from her upstairs apartment and were on her before she reached the bottom of the steps.

“Mrs. Jasperson, do you have any new leads as to the whereabouts of your son?”

“Has a body been found?”

“Why would you try to free your son’s murderer?”

“Are you still in love with your ex-husband?”

She thought she’d been prepared, but the barrage of rapid-fire questions overloaded her brain. “I believe my ex-husband is innocent,” she said. “As I have from the beginning.”

“How do you feel about Eldon’s current wife?”

“Do you know anything about Justin’s murder?”

“Did you kidnap your son? Is that why you know Eldon is innocent?”

“Is your conscience bothering you?”

She wanted to tell them all what to do with their disgusting insinuations, but Ford had said not to antagonize the press. “I really don’t have any more to add—”

“How do you explain Justin’s blood found in Eldon’s car?”

They moved in close, sticking microphones in her face, crowding her so that she could not escape. She’d never liked crowds, and panic rose in her throat.

Just then Ford pushed through the crowd and put a protective arm around Robyn’s shoulders. “No more questions. We’ll issue a statement soon, but right now we’re on a tight schedule.” He managed to sound cordial but firm, and the reporters immediately backed off. Ford escorted Robyn to his car, whispering in her ear, “You look like a scared rabbit. Straighten up and act serene and confident.”

She tried. But all she could think about was reaching the haven of Ford’s car and getting away from the insistent voices, wanting to rip her apart like carrion.

“Mr. Hyatt, aren’t you afraid of putting another murderer back on the street?” one bold reporter asked after the others had fallen silent.

“If I were afraid I wouldn’t pursue this case,” Ford said with a tight smile.

He opened the passenger door and helped Robyn to climb in, acting the chivalrous gentleman for the press. Once the door was closed and locked, she took her first easy breath since Ford had arrived. She watched as Ford had words with a couple of men, and the van blocking their path moved out of the way as he joined her in the car.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” She took another cleansing breath. “You’d think I’d be used to it by now.”

“You did fine.” He started the engine, threw the car in gear and backed out all in one seamless motion. She liked the way he drove, all smooth confidence.

“Fine if you like scared rabbits.” She still shook.

“Have you eaten today?”

“Yes.” She’d had some toast for breakfast. “Is there some reason you’re so fascinated by my diet?”

“You don’t eat when you’re under stress, and that’s when you really should eat well.”

How in the hell did he know that? But it was true. When she was worried about something, she either forgot to eat, or she nibbled because food didn’t sit well in her nervous stomach.

“There’s a white bag by your feet. I bought you a vanilla milk shake. Maybe not the healthiest thing in the world, but at least you won’t pass out. Drink it.”

She didn’t like his imperious attitude. No one had ordered her around since she’d been in juvenile detention. Certainly not her mother, who had taken off with her third husband shortly after Robyn’s high school graduation, apparently happy to be free of her daughter. But he was right; she did need something more in her stomach. She gave him a curt “thanks” and retrieved the milk shake from the bag. It was smooth and creamy and cool in her throat—exactly what she needed.

“What did that reporter mean?” she asked after a minute or so.

“Which one?”

“That last one, who asked you if you were afraid of letting another murderer back on the street.”

“He was just trying to get a reaction out of me.” But Ford’s hands gripped the steering wheel more tightly.

“Have you ever made a mistake?”

“Who hasn’t?” he tossed off.

“No, I mean, have you ever believed someone was innocent, and then you were wrong? Did you ever free a guilty man?”

There was a long, pregnant pause. “You must not read the papers.”

“Not too often, no.” Robyn sensed the tension rolling off him and debated whether to press him or let it ride.

“Drew Copelson. I got his conviction overturned. Two weeks after he got out of jail, he attacked and beat an elderly woman.”

“Oh, my God. Did you—I mean, did you suspect—”

“No. I am, to this day, utterly convinced he did not commit the murder he was convicted of. He became a suspect because he had priors of violent crime, and he couldn’t come up with an alibi. Forensics proved the police planted evidence to clinch their case. He didn’t do it but I wish to God I’d left him in prison to rot. Katherine Hannigan wouldn’t be lying in a hospital room right now.”

“I didn’t realize it was so recent,” she said, wishing she hadn’t brought up what was obviously a painful subject. “I’m sorry it turned out that way. But we can’t just go around locking up people because they might commit a crime. You did the right thing.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you met Katherine. Or her family.”

She hated the desolation she heard in his voice. She couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to be blamed for the brutal attack of a woman. And clearly some people had blamed Ford.

“That’s why I resigned from Project Justice. I was getting out of the guilt-and-innocence business. I would not be working this case if you hadn’t pressured me.” His hands gripped the steering wheel more tightly. “Clearly I should have gotten out a long time ago.”

“I don’t believe that’s true. I’ve read about your other cases—the man in Atlanta who was accused of murdering his wife. The woman in Illinois who went to jail for supposedly killing her elderly father. I believe in our justice system, but it’s only as good as the people involved. And when the system breaks down, someone needs to step in and fix it.”

“I used to think that. Maybe I still do. But that person won’t be me. Not after I finish this case.” An SUV whipped in front of their car, cutting them off. Ford rammed his hand into the horn. “Damn, look at this traffic. Hey, have you talked to Trina?”

Robyn recognized a desperate ploy to change the subject. She let him. “I’m giving her a chance to cool down, but I’ll check on her later. She’s probably feeling betrayed by everyone right now, but once she thinks about it she’ll see we’re right.”

“How did you two end up being friends, anyway?”

Robyn sucked up the last sip of her milk shake, amazed she’d finished it. “I wouldn’t exactly say we’re friends. She did steal my husband, after all.”

“In my experience, husbands don’t get stolen unless they want to be stolen.”

“Yeah, I know.” She blotted her mouth with a paper napkin she’d found in the milk shake sack. “I was being flip. She’s not someone I would choose as a friend. But when Eldon went to trial, his lawyer thought it would play well with the jury if both Mrs. Jaspersons presented a united front.

“Sitting next to Trina in the courtroom day after day, I got to know her. I’d always thought of her as the conniving ‘other woman,’ but I realized she truly did love Eldon. She’s not a bad person. People condemn her because she was poor and married money, but they said the same thing about me.”

“At least Eldon wasn’t married when you met him. You were already making a better life, working your way through college, when you met Eldon. You weren’t on the prowl for a rich husband.”

How did Ford know so much about her and Trina?

“I didn’t say I admired Trina. But I understand why she wanted Eldon. And I understand why he wanted her. Eldon has a pattern of taking on projects—young, unsophisticated, impoverished girls he could mold and improve. Once I was improved, at least enough that his mother quit badgering him to divorce me, he lost interest.”

“Do you still love him?”

The question hung between them longer than it should have. Her answer should have been immediate—no. But she wanted to answer Ford just right.

“I’ll always be grateful for the things Eldon did for me. He paid for my last two years of college. He encouraged me to get my teaching certificate. And he gave me Justin. Those two and a half years I spent as a mother were the best of my life.

“But I no longer love my ex-husband in a romantic way. He hurt me too deeply for that.”

On that note, Ford ended his questions. He’d been nosy, and he’d gotten more than he bargained for—a glimpse of the raw pain Robyn had until now kept carefully hidden.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he was doing the right thing in pursuing Eldon Jasperson’s freedom. He wouldn’t take this case to the governor unless he was damn sure—a hundred percent sure—Jasperson was innocent. That was a pretty high standard. There was no way he would be responsible for putting another murderer—a child killer—out on the street.

If he bailed on the case, which was a definite possibility, he would dash Robyn’s hopes and prove to her once again that she couldn’t count on anyone. Getting involved in this was a mistake, but it was too late now to back out.

They arrived at Huntsville State Prison in plenty of time for the appointment Ford had arranged. Of course, they had to go through the usual security rigmarole. They were searched and scanned more thoroughly than a suspected terrorist at an airport, and then they were given a list of rules, verbally and in writing, detailing everything they couldn’t do during the visit.

This was old hat to Ford. He’d visited more than one death row inmate since starting with Project Justice. But Robyn had probably not gone through this before. An inmate on death row was seldom allowed visitors, usually only with a compelling reason. Robyn was clearly nervous—she’d already chewed off her carefully applied lipstick and hadn’t bothered to put on more.

When the guards were positive Ford and Robyn weren’t packing a stun gun or bolt cutters, they were walked down one depressing corridor after another until they reached Cell Block H. There was no sign declaring it to be death row, but everyone knew what Cell Block H was.

They were shown to a room with a large table and four chairs bolted to the floor.

“Jasperson will be brought in shortly,” one of the guards said.

When they were alone again, Robyn jumped out of her chair and paced. “I thought we would visit him through one of those windows with telephones—you know, kind of like in the movies.”

“Are you nervous about seeing him face-to-face?”

She flashed a guilty, nervous smile. “Terrified. I haven’t seen him in years. Trina says he isn’t holding up well.”

“Sit down,” Ford said. “You heard the rules. We have to stay in our chairs.”

“Sorry.” She slid back into her seat, then clenched her hands in front of her on the scarred metal table.

A few moments later, a guard escorted Eldon Jasperson into the room wearing shackles on both hands and feet, and Ford got his first good look at the man since the trial, when he was more familiar to Houstonians than the hottest Hollywood celebrity. Though Ford knew prison was hard on the inmates, he wasn’t prepared to see a gaunt man with thinning gray hair and sallow skin. In the eight years of incarceration, he’d aged twenty.