Brink of Death by Brandilyn Collins

Author:Brandilyn Collins [Collins, Brandilyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Christian Fiction, Women Artists, Mystery Fiction, Large Type Books, Detective and Mystery Stories, Trials (Murder), Kingston; Annie (Fictitious Character), Courtroom Artists, Witnesses
ISBN: 9780310251033
Published: 2004-01-01T13:00:00+00:00

Chapter 25

My fingers shook as I dialed the offices of Gerralon & Haynes.

No. Now Haynes & Asher. One man’s death meant another man’s promotion.

It was already nearing five. I had to get through to Sid—a man so busy that I imagined his wife even screened his home calls. Even as I dialed the number, myriad responsibilities bombarded me. I would have to tell Detective Chetterling all I’d discovered. And Dave Willit. I should admit to him the horrible truth: if he lived anywhere but across the street from me, his wife would be alive.

And the kids. I had to protect them. The more certain I became that the Sybee file had led to Lisa’s death, the more I knew I could not take chances with my children. They would have to get out of this house, go to their father’s. Surely even Vic wouldn’t fight me on this one.

But first I had to gather all the knowledge I could about the papers. I still could not let go of the hope that the Redwood City man was who he claimed to be and not some paranoid drug dealer called Tip.

By providence Sid Haynes picked up his own phone.

Where to start?

“Sid, it’s Annie. I’m in trouble.”

His hesitation lasted a fraction of a second. I knew he paused not because of the words, which he’d heard hundreds of times from clients, but because they came from me.

“Tell me about it.”

That was Sid. Terse. Ever efficient. I pictured him reaching for a white pad of paper and pen to take notes, envisioned the starched cuff on his right sleeve, the fine gray fabric of his suit.

The story rushed from me in a torrent. Lisa’s murder, my composite, the Face, my remembering. Sid made no more sound than an occasional grunt. When I was done, I stopped to catch my breath.

“Well,” he said slowly. “What do you know.”

I knew Sid would not tell me the inner workings of his

“other man” defense for Edgar Sybee—that is, how it had been built. I could only assume he’d picked up what my father had already put into place, based upon the evidence at the crime scene, and continued with it. It occurred to me now that he may be quite surprised to hear how close to the truth his defense turned out to be.

But Sid’s surprise wasn’t my concern. I jumped to my most pressing question. “Do you know the guy I saw on the street? Does his description sound familiar?”

Please tell me he’s for real!

Sid inhaled. “Annie—” his concerned tone told me I was about to receive answers I didn’t want to hear—”there is no such person who works for us. As a courier or anything else.

And even if there were, I wouldn’t need him to get me a file from someone in my own office.”

My eyes fell to the pages, looking through them, as if the truth were hidden somewhere within the weaving of that paper. “Did you know about this file?”

“No.”

“Do you think it’s real?”

“Evidently, it was real enough to get somebody killed.

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