She had nothing—no evidence, not even a viable suspect. She was certain that Buddy Hicks hadn’t killed her mother, yet she was no closer to discovering who had.
After spending time alone with Angus, Junior, and Reede, Alex was convinced that getting a confession would be tantamount to a miracle. Contrition and repentance didn’t fit their personality profiles. Nor would one testify against the other. The loyalties were solidly forged, though it was obvious their friendship wasn’t what it had once been, which in itself was a clue. Had Celina’s death splintered their clique, yet kept them bound to one another?
She still hoped that the person who had called a few nights before was an actual eyewitness. She had waited for days for another call, one that hadn’t come, which was a strong indication that it had been a prank.
Apparently, the only people near the stable that night had been Gooney Bud, the killer, and Celina. Gooney Bud was dead. The killer wasn’t talking. And Celina—
Alex was suddenly inspired. Her mother couldn’t talk—at least, not in the literal sense—but she might have something valuable to tell.
The idea made Alex sick to her stomach. She propped her forehead on the palms of her hands and closed her eyes. Did she have the fortitude to do it?
She groped for alternatives, but came up empty-handed. She needed evidence, and she could think of only one place to look for it.
Before she could change her mind, she switched off the heater and left the office. Avoiding the unreliable elevator, she jogged up the stairs, hoping that she would catch Judge Joe Wallace before he left for the day.
She anxiously checked her wristwatch. It was almost five o’clock. She didn’t want to put this off until tomorrow. Now that her mind was made up, she wanted to act on her decision before she had the time and opportunity to back out.
The corridors on the second floor were deserted. Jurors had been dismissed for the day. Trials were in recess until tomorrow. Her footsteps echoed loudly as she made her way toward the judge’s chambers adjacent to the empty courtroom. His secretary was still in the anteroom, and none too pleased to see her.
“I need to speak with the judge immediately.” Alex was out of breath after quickly climbing two flights of stairs, and her voice was tinged with desperation.
“He’s fixin’ to leave for the day,” she was told with a lack of apology. “I can make an appoint—”
“This is vitally important, or I wouldn’t bother him at this time of day.”
Alex wasn’t intimidated by Mrs. Lipscomb’s censorious stare or the retiring sigh she emitted as she left her desk and moved to the connecting door. She knocked discreetly, then went inside, closing the door behind her. Alex paced impatiently until she returned.
“He’s agreed to see you. Briefly.”
“Thank you.” Alex rushed past her and into the chambers.
“Well, what is it this time, Miss Gaither?” Judge Wallace barked at her the instant she crossed the threshold. He was pulling on his overcoat. “You seem to have a nasty habit of showing up without an appointment. As you can see, I’m leaving. My daughter Stacey doesn’t like to hold dinner, and it would be rude of me to expect her to.”
“I apologize to both of you, Judge. As I told your secretary, it’s urgent that I talk to you this afternoon.”
“Well?” he demanded cantankerously.
“Could we sit down?”
“I can talk standing up. What do you want?”
“I want you to issue a court order to have my mother’s body exhumed.”
The judge sat down then. Or rather, he dropped down into the chair in front of which he was standing. He stared up at Alex with undisguised dismay.
“I beg your pardon?” he wheezed.
“I believe you heard me, Judge Wallace, although if it’s necessary to repeat my request, I will.”
He waved his hand. “No. Good Lord, no. Hearing it once was bad enough.” He cupped each knee with a hand and continued to stare up at her, apparently thinking she was certifiable. “Why would you want to do such a ghastly thing as that?”
“I don’t want to. I wouldn’t ask for a court order if I didn’t think exhumation was absolutely necessary.”
Having recovered some of his aplomb, he ungraciously indicated a chair. “You might as well sit. Explain your reasons.”
“A crime was committed, but I can find no incriminating evidence.”
“I told you you wouldn’t,” he exclaimed. “You didn’t listen. You came charging in here, slinging unfounded accusations, bent on getting vengeance.”