mother tried to speak with Thomas when he was being taken into the police station, didn’t she?”
She could almost hear his teeth grinding.
“Yes. She did. Except that it was when he was being taken to the county jail. The newspaper got that wrong. Fortunately they didn’t get her name, either.” He clamped his lips shut on the words.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Trey was worried about his mother. She’d give him credit for that, although she wasn’t convinced Geneva needed all that protection.
Jessica subsided, staring out the window at the fields on both sides of the road, lush and green. White farmhouses sat well back from the road, as if to protect their privacy. Here and there she spotted people working in the fields, looking like figures in a landscape painting.
“Amish,” Trey said, nodding at one farmhouse. “You can tell because no power lines go to the house.”
“No electricity.” She tried to imagine it. “What about phones?”
Trey’s shoulders moved in a shrug. “Not in the house. Often there’s a phone shanty at the edge of the field, so they can use a phone for business or in an emergency.”
This was the life her client had led. She tried to reconcile it with drunken parties and found she couldn’t.
Springville appeared—a collection of shops and a few restaurants facing the road, with residential areas spread out behind them. She took a second look at the Springville Inn, where the dead woman had worked. A visit to talk with her coworkers might be in order.
Then they were in the countryside again. Neat farms, neat houses, twin silos flanking barns, contented-looking cows grazing in fields…it was like something off a calendar.
The truck overtook a gray horse-drawn buggy. Trey passed with care, raising a hand to the driver. The bearded man nodded, face impassive, and the two towheaded children with him grinned and waved.
“They know you,” she said. She thought again of the pair in the buggy she’d met earlier. They’d known the Morgan family, too.
“I know most people in the township. Morgans have been here for a long time.”
She let that revolve in her mind. If he knew the place that well, she couldn’t ignore his sense of what the community believed about this crime.
Farmland gave way abruptly to residential areas, a few strip malls, and then they were in Lancaster proper. Trey wove his way through a maze of narrow streets easily, still wearing a slight frown. No doubt he’d like to divorce himself from this proceeding entirely.
“The county jail is in the next block,” he said at last. “Anything else you need to know before you see Thomas?”
“Just one question.” She probably shouldn’t ask this, but she was going to, because when you were swimming in a strange ocean, it helped to know who the sharks were. “Given how you feel about the case, why did you want to come with me?”
The stone jaw returned with a vengeance. “I don’t want my mother involved in this at all. She’s too trusting, and she doesn’t have the slightest idea how serious it is. But if I can’t stop her, I’m at least going to make sure it’s handled appropriately.” He pulled into a parking space and stopped, turning to face her, crowding her in the small space. “You do one thing to turn this situation into a media circus or to manipulate my mother, and I’ll make you wish you’d never heard of the Morgan family.”
Well, that was clear enough. She had a client who was probably guilty, an employer who was acting on instinct and a very formidable man who was determined to dog her every step. And she hadn’t even met the client yet.
CHAPTER THREE
THE ROOM ALLOTTED TO lawyer/client meetings was typical of such places—cement-block walls, a high barred window and a bare wooden table bolted to the floor, flanked by two chairs. The wire-meshed window in the door allowed a police officer to peer in on the conference but hear nothing.
Trey Morgan had walked with her through the maze of corridors. He’d seemed to know, or at least been recognized by, most of the people they encountered, and he’d had an easy, laid-back manner for everyone but her. She’d half expected him to try to stay with her, not that she’d have allowed it, but he hadn’t, merely saying he’d be outside in the truck when she finished with Thomas.
Jessica tried not to fidget as she waited for the client, but she couldn’t forget that Thomas Esch had been accused of beating a woman to death. Any normal woman would feel a sliver of anxiety in this situation. The table was only about three feet wide. If he decided to come after her, how long would it take the guard to get to her?
Nonsense. She’d certainly confronted worse during the three years she’d spent as an assistant D.A., prosecuting domestic-abuse cases. She’d burned out on that, finally, unable to look at another battered woman, knowing chances were good that the woman would change her mind about prosecuting at the last minute and go right back to her abuser, maybe ending up dead.
There’d been value in the work, certainly, but nobody could do it forever. Her father had been relieved that she had come to her senses, as he put it. From the day she passed the bar, he’d been ready to set up a position for her with a good firm. There’d also been his unspoken opinion that she wasn’t tough enough to deal with criminal cases. Unspoken, maybe, but it had come through. Too bad he hadn’t had the son he’d always wanted to follow his footsteps.
The door creaked, startling Jessica into an involuntary flinch. It opened. Two burly guards dwarfed the boy they ushered into the room.
At her first glimpse of Thomas Esch, the apprehension slipped away. He was nothing more than a boy, with frightened blue eyes in a round face and blond hair that looked as if someone had put a bowl on his head and cut around it.
She stood, giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Hello, Thomas. I’m Jessica Langdon. I’m the lawyer Mrs. Morgan hired to defend you.” She held out her hand.
Thomas looked at the outstretched hand as if it held a trap and then cautiously shook it. His palm was hard with calluses, and her opinion pivoted again. He might look like a boy, but he was strong as a man.
Strong enough to beat a woman to death? Thomas was innocent until proved guilty in the eyes of the law, if not the community. He deserved that same assumption from his attorney.
She sat again, nodding to the chair opposite her. Still looking uncertain, Thomas slid onto the seat, moving back as if to get as far away from her as possible.
She waited until the door closed behind the guards, its slam resonating through the bare chamber. She focused on the client, keeping her mind away from the locked door.
“Thomas, do you understand that Mrs. Morgan wants to help you?”
He nodded, eyes still very wide, not blinking.
“Good. She’s helping you by retaining—hiring—me to represent you with the law.”
He looked down at his hands. “Mrs. Morgan is very kind.” He swallowed, Adam’s apple moving.
At least he could talk. His speech was formal, like that of the
