“Whom are you sending them to?”
“There’s a private detective I know.” She turned to her desk and flipped through the large Rolodex until she reached the name Lexis Hanover. “She helped me with my brother’s case and I helped her with a legal case last summer. She’s good at what she does and I trust her.” She plucked the card free and reached for the phone. “She did all the work for Luke pro bono.”
“Why?”
“Mumbling about paying it forward, but I sensed there was more. I never pressed.” The ink of Rachel’s law degree had barely been dry. She’d been trying to look and sound like a seasoned lawyer when she’d petitioned the court for her brother’s retrial. Four years’ distance from that day and she cringed at her naive bravado in the face of the judge’s dismissive attitude and denial.
Lexis had been in the courtroom and approached her later. “I can help.”
“Why?”
“I like your spirit and despite a sloppy presentation you made good points. Let me ask around.”
“I don’t have money.”
“Not asking for any. Someone did me a favor once and now I’ll do one for you. Like paying it forward.”
Rachel had been suspicious, but also desperate and so she’d taken Lexis’s card and soon sent her Luke’s files. To her astonishment Lexis had helped, found key leads that had given Rachel the ammo she needed for a retrial. And then Luke had been murdered in prison. Now Rachel had a chance to pay Lexis back again. She dialed. “Lexis knows handwriting and if these are fake she’ll tell me.”
“You’re going to need a baseline, won’t you?”
“Lexis figures all that out.”
Rachel neared the Vanderbilt University arches in her car when her cell rang. Distracted by her mission she picked up the phone without glancing at the number.
“Rachel Wainwright?”
“That is correct.”
“This is Susan Martinez, Channel Five.”
The light at 16th and Broadway turned red and Rachel gratefully accepted the delay. “Susan. We’ve been playing phone tag today.”
“I know and I’m sorry about that. How’s your jaw?”
Hurts like hell. “It’s fine. Barely a mark.”
“I called Miss Miller this morning. I’ll be interviewing her and wondered if I might be able to follow up with you.”
As much as Rachel wanted to keep her story in the spotlight, she hesitated before saying, “What kind of questions are we talking about?”
“Background on your client. What it’s been like for him the past three decades.”
Sounded good but she sensed bait on a lure. Still, the chance for more airtime could not be passed up lightly. “Sure. What time?”
“Say four. I’d like to make the six o’clock news.”
“Sure.”
“Your office?”
Her brain catalogued how much she’d have to clean before the news crew arrived. “Four it is.”
“Great. See you then.”
Rachel rang off as the light turned green and followed Broadway as it branched to the right. Five minutes later she’d parked on the street by Vanderbilt.
She walked down the brick sidewalk through the gates of the university and to a cluster of buildings called the Stevenson Center. The math department was in Building One where Lexis taught math. A short elevator ride found her approaching Lexis’s basement office. She saw the name plaque that read DR. L. HANOVER and knocked.
“Enter.”
The thick scent of cigarette smoke greeted her as she entered the cramped office packed with shelves crammed tight with books and papers. Lexis sat behind a small desk teeming with stacks of books. An in-box overflowed with papers, an ashtray brimmed with ash and a half-dozen coffee cups lined the desk’s edge. Judging by the stale smell, this place hadn’t been cleaned in months.
Dark square glasses and a black turtleneck sharpened the lines on her angled face and whitened gray hair that flowed to broad shoulders. “Rachel. Loved the show on the news last night.”
Rachel grimaced. “Not one of my finer moments.” Lexis stood. “Not at all. You’d not have made the news if that lady hadn’t slugged you. Was she a plant? Did you stage that?”
Rachel rubbed her still-tender jaw. “No, it was not staged.”
“Then count your lucky stars. Jeb Jones wouldn’t have hit most radar screens if you’d not been slugged.”
“Good to know it wasn’t all in vain.”
“Not at all. There a bruise?”
She tapped her chin gingerly with her fingertip. “Oh, yeah.”
Lexis moved closer and inspected the spot. “Rub off some of that makeup and let the bruise show. Badge of honor.”
“Feels like the mark of a fool. I should have seen it coming.”
Lexis shrugged. “That reporter called you for a follow-up?”
“I spoke to Ms. Martinez minutes ago. We have another interview today.”
“Good.” She reached for a fresh cigarette and fumbled for a lighter. “How’s Mr. Jones doing?”
Rachel frowned. “He’s not well. And he fears he’ll die in prison.”
A frown furrowed her brow as she flicked the silver engraved lighter. It didn’t ignite. “You’ll make a difference.”
“Let’s hope a better job than I did for Luke.”
“That wasn’t your fault.” Lexis shook the lighter, flicked again and a flame jumped. She lit the edge of her cigarette.
No take-backs, Rachel! “I could have kept him out of prison.”
“He had no right to ask you to lie.” She drew in smoke and then blew it out slowly. “You could have landed in jail yourself.”
A wane smile curved the edges of her lips. “Woulda, shoulda, coulda.”
“Remember you can’t fix everyone, Rachel. You did a lot for Luke. How many times did you drag him out of bars or out of the gutter?”
More times than she could remember. “I’ll always feel like I failed him.”
“You changed your life for him. Not many go the distance like that, Rachel. I admire that in you.”
An unexpected tear slid down her cheek and she swiped it away, embarrassed. “I didn’t intend for this to be a therapy session.”
Lexis smiled and inhaled. “I like to think I’m a jack of many trades.”
Rachel laughed. “And does handwriting analysis still fall in your wheelhouse?”
“It does, as a matter of fact. Verifying signatures is a growing trend in the last year. No one trusts anyone.”
“Makes good business for us both.”
“I won’t get rich on an adjunct’s salary.” She stabbed the cigarette into the ashtray.
Rachel looked around the room. “Kids treating you well?”
“I’ve a graduate class that is tolerable but the eight o’clock undergraduate class rarely is awake long enough to learn. Bit like talking to potted plants. Tell me about these letters.”
Rachel recapped their early morning delivery and the content. “I wore gloves when I handled all but the first letter. I read them and photographed them.”