Erin entered the number on her phone and waited for the ring.
“Hello?” The voice sound old and hoarse. A heavy smoker, maybe.
“Ms. Murchison, my name is Erin Tyler.”
“Yes. I know who you are. Luke said you might want to talk to me. Can we meet now?”
“I was hoping we could. Tell me where.”
“Can you come to my house? I only live a few blocks from the courthouse, but I don’t get around so well, and I just got home.” She gave Erin directions.
A few minutes later, Erin parked at the curb. She recognized the small brick house now. For as long as she could remember, it had stood vacant, the windows boarded, the yard overgrown with weeds. But now she could see that the place had been cleaned up. The yard, though dry, had been mowed. The front door was painted a cheerful lime green. Spider plants hung in macramé slings over the covered porch, where a figure in a flowered sundress overflowed one of two large rattan chairs. Two cats dozed on the low steps. Three more sprawled in the shade of the porch.
Good grief, was Luke being defended by a crazy cat lady?
“Sit down, dear. You can call me Pearl.” The woman hauled herself to her feet. Erin noticed the cane propped against the chair and the pack of Marlboros on the side table. “I’ve got some cold sodas in the fridge. I’d offer you a beer, but I’ve been sober for six years, so I don’t keep temptation around.”
“Maybe later, thanks,” Erin said. “Right now I’d rather just talk to you. How is Luke?”
Pearl lowered herself to the chair again. “About how you’d expect. He’s a proud man. Reminds me of a caged lion. He told me to make sure you stayed away.”
“Yes, we agreed that it might hurt his case if I showed up. But it’s hard, not being able to see him. All I can do is make sure you have everything you need for his defense.”
“I spent most of the night studying his file and looking for anything that might help—insomnia is just one of my complaints. Did you know about the previous assault charge?”
“Yes. Luke punched a man for abusing a horse. He told me he’d do it again in the same situation.”
“And the witness? The one who claims to have seen him unloading that tire?”
“He was my boyfriend before Luke came along. I can’t disprove his claim because I wasn’t there, but he’s got to be lying. Last night he even hinted that he might change his story if I’d go back to him.”
“Would you be willing to testify to that in court?” The blue eyes that peered at Erin through tortoise-framed glasses were sharp and intelligent.
“Certainly, but what he said was only implied. It might not be enough to convince a jury.”
“You may be right, but at least it’s an option. The fact that the victim was your father, and that you still believe in Luke’s innocence, should carry some weight. Are you sure you wouldn’t like a soda?”
“If you’ll let me get it, and one for you, too,” Erin said.
“Thanks. These old legs aren’t what they used to be when I was Miss Blanco County of 1972. I’ll take a root beer.”
Erin got up and went inside through the screen door. The interior of the little house was cluttered but clean, with sagging, well-worn furniture facing an old-style TV. One entire wall was covered in bookshelves—their contents running the gamut from law, to science, history, and literary classics. One shelf was filled with well-worn paperback romance novels. Two more cats lounged on the chair, a tabby on the back, a ginger on the arm.
The Formica table in the kitchen was littered with open files, newspaper clippings, and old law books, scattered around an open laptop computer. Passing the table on her way to the fridge, Erin couldn’t help noticing some familiar names and faces. It appeared that Pearl had been researching Luke’s case in depth—t
he people involved, the crime scene, the sheriff’s records, the witness accounts, and legal precedents in similar cases. The lady was doing her homework. Cats or no cats, Pearl Murchison was the real deal.
With renewed respect, Erin took a root beer and a Diet Coke from the fridge and carried them outside. The cat Pearl had been stroking jumped off her lap as Erin sat down again.
“Answer one question for me.” Pearl popped the tab on her root beer and sipped it as she talked. “If you weren’t in love with Luke Maddox—and I’m assuming you are—would you still believe that he didn’t murder your father?”
The question shocked Erin for an instant, but she answered without hesitation. “I’ve seen Luke at work. I’ve seen his gentleness and witnessed his integrity. There’s no way he’s a killer. That aside, it makes no sense at all that he’d kill my father. It would have cost him everything he valued. Besides, he wasn’t even there. Is that good enough for you?”
“For now. So let’s move on. What I’m hoping to do here is prove to the grand jury that there’s no case to take to trial. For that we need to do at least one of two things—either prove that Luke couldn’t have committed the crime, or prove that someone else did. Are you with me so far?”
Erin nodded.
“Here’s where I need your help,” Pearl continued. “As I see it, there are two conflicting claims. According to the medical examiner, and confirmed by Abner Sweeney, who saw him leave the bar, your father was killed between eleven-thirty and noon, when somebody spotted his empty truck from the main road. Your exboyfriend claims that sometime before that he saw Luke setting up an ambush. Luke’s version of the story is that he left the Rimrock around ten—a time confirmed by your housekeeper—and that he made it all the way to Plainview before he heard the news on TV and turned around.”