Emily Kenyon 01 - A Cold Dark Place

on the other end of the line. She had promised to call with the verdict, but now regretted it. At the time she was sure the verdict would have gone completely in the prosecutor’s favor. That was before the defense used the tragedy of the Ticen suicide to diffuse the truth.
    “Like I said, mixed,” she began, tentatively, still searching for words that would ease a broken heart. None, she knew, could ever be found. “Two counts of second-degree murder.”
    Olga waited, but Mrs. Smith just breathed softly into the line.
    “I’m so, so sorry. Shelly and Lorrie deserved so much more than that”
    Mrs. Smith finally spoke. Her words were measured, but there was an underpinning of loathing coming from deep inside. She was fighting it, the kind of churchgoer that she was. But it was undeniable. “Both girls are in heaven now. And after seeing how the world is up in your part of the state, I’d say they’re both better off for it. Shame on a system that lets a man steal two beautiful lives as if they were nothing.”
    The words pierced Olga’s broken heart. She knew they’d failed those girls. Now the worst kind of human being-the kind who can only mimic compassion or approximate the affect of humanity-was getting the biggest break of his life.
    “As I said, I’m so, so sorry.”
    The line went dead. Mrs. Smith had hung up without saying good-bye.
    Two weeks later insult was added to injury when sentence was passed. Twenty years to life for each girl’s death. The absolute blow: The sentence was concurrent. Dylan Walker would likely see the light of day.
    “Ready?” Tina Winston looked suspiciously at Bonnie Jeffries standing in the doorway wearing her nearly threadbare quilted bathrobe. “You don’t look it.”
    Bonnie was perplexed. She drew her robe belt tighter and opened the door wider to let Tina inside.
    “God, you can be so obtuse, Bonnie.”
    Tina breezed into the foyer and shut the door behind her. “We’re going up to Meridian today, right?” Tina put her hand on her hip and regarded her friend impatiently. She was nearly giddy. She tried to fake a frown, but she was obviously so excited about something she couldn’t even be in a teasing mood.
    “Dylan Walker wants to meet me. He sent me a personal letter.” Without taking her eyes off Bonnie, now sitting on the living room sofa, Tina unclasped her Louis Vuitton handbag. With the flourish of a waiter presenting some fabulous meal under a crystalline dome, she handed Bonnie an oversized envelope.
    It was addressed to Tina Winston. The return address was D. Walker, c/o Whatcom County Jail, Meridian.
    “He actually wrote to you?”
    Tina grinned broadly. “Finally. I sent him at least three notes of encouragement throughout that travesty of justice up there in Meridian.” She slid down next to Bonnie and, unable to wait a second longer, pulled the letter from the envelope like it was a Christmas present she’d been dying to open.
    “This is stupid, Tina,” Bonnie said flatly.
    “Maybe you won’t think so when you read it.”
    Bonnie was skeptical, but she put on her red-framed readers anyway. Dylan Walker’s handwriting was surprisingly crisp, nearly feminine. It looked almost as if he’d never developed a style of his own after learning penmanship in third grade. Ascenders and descenders were perfect in form and angle.
    Dear Tina: Your letters have been so welcome and I’m sorry there has been delay in my response. You cannot believe how much mail I get here. There’s no way I could answer each and every note, but your sincerity and genuine interest in my case really touched me. I’ve suffered more than any man I’ve ever known. I’m not one for pity, but I have no idea why God would do this to me. All I’ve tried to do is live a good, honest life. See where it got me? Thank you for the photo …
    Bonnie looked over the top of her glasses and made a face. “You sent him your picture?”
    Tina shrugged as if no defense was needed.
    “So? Even if he’s guilty which he’s most definitely not-he’s headed to prison. He’s not going to hurt anyone from there. I’m more worried about him than anything. I don’t have to remind you that famous people are victimized in prisons across this country every day. They’re targets of the riffraff incarcerated there”
    Bonnie kept her mouth shut. What could she say? Dylan Walker was not some innocent man pulled off the street and tried for a double homicide on a whim. He was the