Emily Locke 01 - Final Approach

tried to kick Jeannie under the table but got the table base instead.
    I waved off her comment. “Forget it.”
    Richard hesitated. “Stirred the pot how, Jeannie?”
    I interrupted. “We are not going to have this conversation.”
    “As if he doesn’t know…” Jeannie muttered into her handbag. She pulled out her cigarettes and dug for a lighter.
    “Exactly what conversation are we not going to have?” Richard asked me.
    Jeannie found the lighter, lit up, took a drag, and exhaled smoke over one shoulder. She returned her gaze to Richard. “The conversation about how you took a bribe to botch her friend’s kidnapping trial.”
    I was paralyzed with disbelief. Had she really said that out loud?
    Richard looked at me, astonished.
    “Is that what you think? That I took a bribe to throw the Shelton trial?”
    The waitress returned and told Jeannie we were in a non-smoking section. Jeannie shot her a pissy stare that sent her back to the kitchen.
    “Do you?” Richard pressed.
    I pushed my coffee away and slapped my journal on the table in front of me. I flipped through its pages, looking for the entry. Jeannie laid a hand delicately on my wrist, her way of telling me to calm down. I swatted it away. When I found the page I wanted, I shoved the notebook at Richard and watched him read it.
    September 22
    Nora dropped by to check on me. They lost the case. When she told me, she seemed to be holding back. Something was off. I said I couldn’t understand how the case was lost after everything I’d said in my deposition. She seemed as shocked by that statement as I was by hers: What deposition?
    The assistant D.A. said I no-showed. When his office tried to reschedule, I’d already left for counseling.
    A memory snapped into place—a phone call asking to move the meeting. Same time, different office. Something about trying to get a court reporter on short notice. There was one who’d do it, but a different location was better for her. I didn’t give it a second thought, just drove to the new address and told my story.
    There were three people: the assistant D.A., Reed’s attorney, and the court reporter. They went through all the motions. I never suspected anything was other than it seemed. Who the hell were those people?
    “They tried to get a retrial,” I said when Richard finished reading. “But there were no witnesses to corroborate my story, and everyone knew I was clinically depressed.”
    Jeannie pointed her cigarette at Richard. “Emily only told one person when and where the real deposition was going to happen.”
    Richard dropped his gaze to the table.
    “Me,” he said softly.
    “They bribed you to set up the switch, didn’t they?” I asked. “And you did it.”
    It was the first time I’d confronted him to his face.
    He stood and reached for his wallet.
    “No,” he said, sounding beaten down and exhausted. “They didn’t bribe me. They threatened me. They knew things about my kids…where they had ball practice and dance lessons, what time they caught the bus. I didn’t put too much stock in it until…”
    He shook his head.
    “Until what?” Jeannie asked.
    “Until the boat wreck,” I said quietly, finishing for him. For the first time, I realized Jack and Annette’s deaths might not have been accidental.
    Richard laid a twenty on the table and silently walked away.

Chapter Nineteen
    “Emily!” Scud called from the front of the Twin Otter. I could barely hear him over the engines, and wasn’t in the mood to try.
    I wanted space to think. Privacy to reorganize my memories and move them around until they fit with Richard’s new information. History demanded to be set right in my mind.
    But instead, I was sandwiched between jumpers on the floor of the gutted plane, sitting underneath a bumper sticker stuck to the wall that said No Farting.
    It was Sunday, the last day of the boogie. That night most people would leave, and probably take with them any chance I had to get answers. Trish Dalton was our only lead and I had to learn more about her. So I’d compartmentalized my feelings and manifested on her boyfriend’s load.
    “Emily!” Scud yelled again. “Get us some extra altitude!”
    I checked my altimeter. We were passing through twelve thousand feet, nearing jump run. Skydivers near Scud laughed, but I didn’t get the joke. I looked at them, confused.
    Scud held his wrist-mounted altimeter overhead and pointed to it like a watch. He yelled again, “More