Colton 911: Detective on Call
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Regan Black
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Chapter 1
At the reception desk of the women’s prison, Pippa Colton waited, smothering her brewing impatience under a professionally unflappable demeanor. Probably the most important lesson of law school: never let them see you sweat.
Though she wasn’t sweating in her charcoal slacks and tailored jacket, it was impossible to ignore the ripe smells of the countless bodies that had passed through. Thanks to its overcrowding and pervasive violence, she could not consider the prison system as anything other than inhumane. No matter how clean on the surface, every prison had a distinct odor of fatigue, resignation and stress that never faded. Her client would have likely thrown a fit and demanded air freshener upon arrival.
The guard on the other side of the window frowned at her credentials, shifting his gaze to a computer monitor and back to her. “You’re not listed on the visitor log today.”
“There must be a mistake.” She reached into her briefcase for the confirmation she’d printed out after registering this meeting through the online portal. This wasn’t her first trek to a prison. “I have the details right here.”
She slid the page through the gap in the protective window, and on the other side, the skinny man’s thin upper lip curled. He seemed bent on turning her away, but jumping through hoops was part of the job. Soon she would be heading deeper into this monstrosity of a facility, and the attitudes aimed her way from both inmates and guards were likely to get surlier along the way.
With a put-upon sigh, the guard keyed in the number at the top of the page and waited. Shaking his head, he pushed the paper back to her, along with her credentials. “Nothing here, ma’am.”
“But—”
He shrugged. “There’s nothing here. You’ll have to reschedule.”
She reined in her temper. No one in the legal system wanted to befriend the lawyer trying to overturn a conviction. Especially when that conviction meant freeing the woman everyone loved to hate, Anna Wentworth, who had been transferred to the prison two weeks ago after a jury found her guilty of murdering her lover, David Hicks.
Public opinion had been working against Anna from the start. A prominent married socialite in Grand Rapids, Michigan, Anna had been dubbed the Queen of Mean long before being labeled as a killer. Oddly enough, no one cared that she’d been unfaithful to her husband, Ed, only that she’d allegedly offed Hicks when the younger man ended the affair.
“Could you please double-check?” she asked with a polite smile. Her mind was envisioning outrageous methods of getting to her client. But she wasn’t an action hero, just the least popular attorney in Michigan today.
The guard walked away without a word, paper in hand. She had no idea if the man would return to the window or how long it would be until someone else stepped up to return her credentials.
She’d never been outright denied a visit. To get Anna released, she had to give the court the real killer and proof to clear her client. Unfortunately, the case file and collected evidence had yet to point her in the right direction. Why was she the only person who could look at the evidence and see it was too neat and tidy to be true? Her hope was that Anna would cooperate today in ways she hadn’t done with her original defense team.
At the time of her arrest and trial, Anna had been certain being innocent—and wealthy—would be enough to get the charges dismissed and the case thrown out. No one could convince her of the severity of the evidence against her. As a strategy, being too wealthy to go to prison was terrible. As a lifestyle it was worse. Though Pippa had also been raised in a wealthy family, she detested Anna’s elitist and privileged attitudes. But no one deserved to be in prison for a crime they didn’t commit.
The skinny guard returned, looking annoyed that she hadn’t given up. “Sorry, ma’am. I double-checked.” He pushed the paper and her credentials back across the counter for her. “You can’t see your client today. In the future you’ll need to schedule an appointment with the new form.”
“I scheduled today’s appointment with the current form,” Pippa said. She pulled up her phone and opened her email app. Briskly, she read aloud the dates of her emails and the positive responses from the prison. “Shall I forward these to you?” she queried.
“No, ma’am. I can’t accept that as authorization.” His gaze fell and he looked a bit sheepish, and she pounced on the first sign of weakness.
“What can you accept? I’ve driven over two hours to see my client after filing everything properly. You do know she and I have a legal right to confer.”
“Yes, ma’am—”
“Great.” She cut him off. “In the past, I’ve been able to fill out visitation paperwork right here. Is that an option today?”
“No, ma’am. New policy is in effect. I can’t let you in without the correct paperwork, completed twenty-four hours ahead of the requested time. Sorry. Ma’am.”
His diligent use of “ma’am” struck her ears like nails on a chalkboard, and she was sure that’s why he kept it up. She pressed her lips together and started over.
“I respect your position and the system,” she began, ignoring the guard’s sneer. The anti-Anna movement was in full force today. Again, she mentally scolded her client for making this all so much harder than it needed to be. Clearly, the woman’s superiority complex wasn’t making her any friends in prison either. Only more enemies.
Elizabeth, Anna’s daughter and Pippa’s good friend, would be terribly disappointed if Pippa couldn’t get inside today. For Elizabeth, she reminded herself, infusing her voice with steel. “You, sir, are hindering the legal process,” she snapped. “May I speak with your supervisor?”
“No, ma’am. He’s at lunch.”
One more snarky “ma’am” and she would come dangerously close to committing a crime herself. She lightly rested her folded hands on the counter. If she had to wear prison orange, it should be for a better reason than losing her temper. She smiled, absolutely certain the expression was less than friendly. “Is Warden Birrell available? Although we haven’t spoken in person since my father’s funeral, it would make the trip worthwhile just to say hello and catch up for a few minutes.”
Name-dropping wasn’t her thing, and she typically avoided throwing around Colton family connections and influence this way, but she was growing desperate.
The guard closed the panel so she couldn’t push any more papers at him. “The warden and my supervisor are having lunch together.”
“How wonderful for everyone,” Pippa said. “I’ll wait right here for their return.” She planted herself in the plastic chair across from the window.
And didn’t that plan shine a spotlight on the differences between her and the prison inmates, including her client. She had the luxury and freedom to stay or go as she wished. It shouldn’t have surprised her that the speculation in the press had reached the prison. Calling her the Queen of Mean, the general consensus was that she’d taken on the Queen’s case for immediate notoriety. While it was true that getting Anna’s conviction overturned would allow her to progress her ideal career path, Pippa was here to right a wrong and to help Elizabeth, her friend.
Twenty minutes ticked by, then another twenty. Although it made sense for both the supervisor and the warden to return through this entrance, closest to their offices, it was clear someone had warned them off. She knew when she was defeated.
Using her phone, she drafted an email to the warden, who really was a family friend, and sent a text message update to Elizabeth on the day’s failure. Pulling out her portfolio, she opened it to the notepad printed with her firm’s formal letterhead. With her best penmanship, she wrote a friendly little letter to Warden Birrell, praising his staff. She folded the note and slid it into an envelope also printed with the firm’s logo. There was no sense pretending the note wouldn’t be read long before it reached him, if it reached him at all. Thus the reason for the more direct and candid email she would send once she was outside.
She stepped up to the window once more. “I’d like to leave this note for the warden, please.”
“Fine. I’ll take it,” the guard said.
It didn’t escape her notice that he didn’t say the note would be delivered. “Thank you.” She pushed the envelope across the counter, up to the closed slot. At least he’d laid off the “ma’am” routine. “Have a wonderful day.” Chin in the air, she turned and marched out, feeling only marginally guilty that she could leave the prison behind.
Prisons were a necessary piece of the justice system. Defense teams were essential too, and not just to stand up for those wrongfully accused. She knew she was on the right side with the Wentworth case, but it was going to be a hard road to help this particular client.
The crisp autumn air and bright sunshine were welcome and she breathed deeply, closing her eyes briefly when she reached the relative security of her vehicle.
After unlocking the car, she opened the back door and set her briefcase on the floor behind the driver’s seat. She paused to send the email to the warden, then shrugged out of her suit jacket and draped it over the hanger in the back. Settling behind the wheel for the drive home, she started the engine, then sat back, checking her phone one more time, just in case the warden had seen her email.
Having dawdled as much as she dared, she backed out of her parking space and drove away.
The prison guard kept an eye on the security monitors, waiting until the gates closed behind the snooty attorney. He waited a few minutes more until she pulled out of the parking lot. Then he called someone to cover him so he could go have a smoke. Outside in the employee parking lot, he stared out at the line of trees blocking the prison yard from the rest of the world.
He lit his cigarette and took a long, deep drag. The persistent woman had been almost as annoying as the inmate she wanted to see.
Pulling out his phone, he called the number he’d been given. It rang three times before anyone picked up.
“Go,” said the voice on the other end.
“She’s gone,” he said. “No meeting with her client.”
“Got it.”
“And the daughter?” the guard asked. It was going to be a whole lot harder stonewalling that one, but he could find a way if it meant extra cash. “Hello?” He checked his signal and saw the Call Ended icon flashing on his screen.
“Whatever,” he muttered, tucking his phone back into his pocket. He’d done his part. If the money wasn’t in his account when he got home tonight, he’d do things the right way next time.
Detective Emmanuel Iglesias checked his phone as he finished his lunch outside the GRPD headquarters. One of his favorite food trucks had parked nearby today and it was too beautiful outside not to soak up the fall weather. He dealt with the less appealing facets of Grand Rapids most days and last year, on the verge of burnout, he’d promised himself to focus on the nicer elements as often as possible to balance the scales.
Seeing the text message from his friend Griffin Colton, he hesitated. The preview on the app mentioned Griffin’s sister, Pippa. Emmanuel tried not to groan out loud. Why had he agreed when Griffin asked him to keep an eye on his sister?
Because friends stepped up.
He opened the full text message. No word from Pippa today. No answer at her office or condo. It happens when she’s focused, but I’d feel better if you have time to check.
Apparently Pippa had a reputation within the family for being a little too reckless in the pursuit of justice. As a business, founded by Griffin’s older brother Riley, the siblings worked together as Colton Investigations and they had their hands full with the escalating RevitaYou situation.
RevitaYou, a daily “miracle” supplement, promised to make a person look ten years younger after only one week of use. With rave reviews from consumers and falsified medical endorsements, a new business had exploded with investors and distributors. But something in the formula was off and turning into deadly Ricin. One death had already been linked to the supplement and everything indicated there would be more.
The GRPD and Colton Investigations were cooperating to prevent more untimely deaths, though Emmanuel knew a top priority for the Coltons was locating Brody Higgins, a young man they considered part of the family, who had borrowed money to invest in RevitaYou. Unfortunately, he’d borrowed from Capital X, a loan shark operation disguised as a legitimate financial group. The Coltons were determined to find Brody before the Capital X enforcers hurt him—again.
Changing directions, he headed for his car to swing by Pippa’s condo and office. He’d keep his word and try to find something to ease Griffin’s mind.
Emmanuel knew Griffin worried about Pippa getting caught up in Brody’s mess, since his last direct contact had been with her. Now that she was the new lead attorney for a convicted killer, Emmanuel had other concerns. He wouldn’t define Pippa’s choice to defend Anna Wentworth as a reckless pursuit of justice. In his mind, it was more like career suicide.
Having worked the Wentworth case, he knew it was solid. He’d testified at the trial and walked the jury through every piece of evidence he’d found. Pippa hadn’t been on the defense team then, but now resentment was brewing against her in the GRPD. No one liked having good work picked apart in the search for a technicality that would set a criminal free.
Anna Wentworth was guilty, Emmanuel was certain of it, and promise or not, he wouldn’t let one idealistic attorney unravel everything so a murderous socialite could get back to her mansion.
Once Pippa was out on the deserted stretch of road that eventually connected with the highway, she finally let out the scream of frustration that had been building for over an hour.
Feeling better with just that simple, primal release, she found a radio station playing heavy metal music and turned up the volume. People usually took in her conservative wardrobe and professional manner and decided she was a prim, entitled lawyer with musical tastes that didn’t veer from serene and classical. They couldn’t be more wrong. She was more than willing to dress the part and play the game to get a job done, but she wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. Blame those traits on her mother, a woman who had died before accomplishing all her big goals to help people who struggled in their community. With heavy bass pounding through the speakers, Pippa rewound and reviewed every detail of her interaction with that guard.
Obviously he’d been instructed to block her at all turns. Who on earth had the influence to prevent her from meeting her client? More important, who had a reason to do so?
She’d initially kept up with the Wentworth trial to support her friend, believing from the start Anna wasn’t a killer. It was only after Elizabeth had hired her that Pippa had pored over the case page by page. After two weeks, she had the case pretty much memorized from the first emergency call to the reading of the verdict. For the life of her, she couldn’t come up with anyone close to the victim who could successfully frame Anna.
Pippa firmly believed in the theory that every crisis held the seeds of opportunity. If she couldn’t speak with her client, she was back to square one with the overwhelming evidence that was too perfect. It wasn’t enough that Anna wasn’t the sort to do her own dirty work. And making it clear she didn’t consider the victim a threat had backfired during the trial. What was her next move?
The warden, assuming he’d actually been in his office, wasn’t interested in helping her. The guards didn’t seem to like Inmate Anna. No shock there. The woman wasn’t easy at the best of times. Used to having her own way on her own terms, she was probably raising a stink over having her days controlled by others.
According to the last count, only Elizabeth; Elizabeth’s father, Ed; and Pippa truly believed Anna was innocent of the Hicks murder. Unfortunately, Ed was so frustrated and angry over his wife’s indiscretions and arrogant behavior during the trial that he was content to let her stew in her own mess, offering little in the way of support.
Anna’s unswervingly self-centered choices and her habitual delegation of everything from car pool duty to signing Christmas cards would never win her awards for best wife or mom of the year, but she wasn’t foolish enough to kill a man and leave a piece of her stunning bespoke jewelry near the body. Yes, shock and rage affected the mind and impaired critical thinking, but even if Anna had been capable of those extremes and had managed to fire the two bullets that stopped David Hicks’s heart, she wouldn’t have tossed the gun into her beloved rose bushes less than three feet from the body.
In Pippa’s opinion, if Anna had been bothered enough to want a person dead, she would’ve hired someone to handle the job. For as long as Pippa had known Elizabeth, that’s how Anna Wentworth operated. The vast majority of her volunteer hours were handled by assistants. Anna wrote checks and dressed up in glorious gowns and gems, but she never got her hands dirty. Trouble was, she didn’t have anything concrete to prove Anna’s innocence.
Using the controls on the steering wheel, she muted the radio and called her office, leaving a message for her paralegal about the derailed meeting. When she was back home, she would review her notes on the case one more time to find a way forward. At last, she called her twin sister, Kiely, and let her know she was on the way back to Grand Rapids. That left her with two hours of uninterrupted drive time to figure out how she could effectively circumvent the prison to interview Anna.
Last week, she’d spent an entire day with this case file in the evidence room at the Grand Rapids Police Department. She could arrange for the evidence to be reviewed by an independent lab, but it was a pricey option that was unlikely to be helpful since there were no glaring gaps in the chain of evidence.
It would have been nice if Pippa could back up a theory that Anna had been railroaded, but it just wasn’t true. The detectives on the case had been thorough and cautious, refusing to give the press anything that might color the investigation or the trial. They’d also come to the wrong conclusion.
Whoever had framed Anna had done an excellent job.
If the prison system wouldn’t allow her to have reasonable meetings with her client, she would just find another way to get any helpful information out of Anna. As Hicks’s lover, she might not even realize what she’d learned about him and any enemies who might have motive to kill him and frame her.
Pippa was still working her way through the transcripts of the interviews and depositions. At some point there must have been a different suspect, yet somehow the GRPD investigation had decided the motive and evidence fit and pinned the murder on the wrong person.
Yes, Anna had been having an affair with Hicks. Yes, Hicks ended it before Anna was ready, and he’d reportedly threatened to tell her husband if she didn’t pay him off. But Ed had known about the affair. At some point Ed and Anna had agreed to break their wedding vows. Infidelity was one weird cog in the machine that kept their marriage working. Pippa had heard of stranger things. Her parents’ marriage hadn’t been nearly the picture of perfection that the public assumed. What worked for the Wentworths shouldn’t make any difference to the case or to anyone else, though it fed local gossip columns for weeks.
The sound of a big engine behind her drew her attention back to the roadway. An SUV painted in the blue of Michigan State Police troopers was bearing down on her, lights flashing. Her pulse kicked up a notch as she checked her speed—within the limit—then she eased closer to the shoulder to give him room to pass.
He blew right by her. Relieved, she merged back into the lane. For several seconds she’d thought her botched trip to the prison was going to get worse. She was jumpy. Only ten days on the job and she’d had her fill of the press hounding her for interviews and explanations.
Well, as her dad would have said, the right choice wasn’t always the popular choice.
Grand Rapids wanted to enjoy the implosion and downfall of the society Queen of Mean. They weren’t interested in the more pertinent facts about David Hicks. The victim was more than a decade younger than Anna, and from what Pippa could see, he’d shown a distinct pattern of risky behavior. He chose to be seen publicly with wealthy and influential married women. There were plenty of pictures and videos of him caught in unmistakable displays of affection and intimacy.
Pippa figured any number of husbands wanted him dead, and probably a few ex-girlfriends too. She was sure Anna wasn’t the first woman, single or married, that he’d tried to blackmail in the course of a breakup. She just hadn’t been able to prove it yet. The man enjoyed an active dating life, and he thrived on rubbing elbows with society’s elite. Sleeping with Anna had provided Hicks with a serious boost of notoriety. And when he’d been ready to move on, he’d probably been shocked Anna didn’t care enough about his threats to pay him off.
Shocked, yes, but he hadn’t shot himself in the chest.
As Elizabeth’s friend and a familiar face, Pippa held out hope that Anna would be more forthright about what she knew of Hicks’s habits, instead of dismissing those questions as irrelevant. Pippa needed a kernel of truth to run with, something that would turn that case file upside down.
She sang along with the radio for a time, her mind still sorting out the pieces and players.
The prosecution insisted the insult of being dumped combined with the threat of blackmail pushed Anna to kill and to make mistakes in the process. That might have been enough with anyone else. Although Anna was self-absorbed, she wasn’t stupid.
Her defense team had been caught in a sticky web. Everyone in the area had an impression and opinion of high-profile Anna Wentworth. If her defense made her seem too smart or too into Hicks, that only made it easier to believe she could commit murder. The prosecution portrayed their case as a crime of passion and claimed the damning evidence had been left almost in plain sight because she’d been overwhelmed and enraged.
Naturally, Anna’s fingerprints were on her jewelry but they hadn’t been on the gun. No gunshot residue on her hands, either, but those facts hadn’t swayed the jury.
Bottom line, no one wanted to believe Anna’s side of the story. It would’ve helped if she’d had a decent alibi, but she’d been working from home that day and the timing of the messages she’d left her assistant weren’t enough to clear her. It didn’t help matters that during the trial Anna had referred to Hicks as a dirty rat whose only redeeming quality had been his handsome face.
The defense team recognized they were finished, though they’d fought right up to the closing arguments and sentencing.
What they’d needed—what Pippa still needed—was another valid suspect, another theory about the motive. The threat of blackmail sounded like enough, until you dug into the Wentworth marriage. So far the only chink in the prosecution’s armor was the lack of an interview with Ed. Or even Elizabeth. She’d found the notes from the detectives working the case that confirmed those alibis, but shouldn’t they have taken a closer look at the cuckolded husband?
That fishy detail wasn’t enough to reopen the case, but it was something she wanted answered by Sergeant Joe McRath and Detective Emmanuel Iglesias, who had worked Anna’s case.
She muted the radio and dictated more notes into her phone, brainstorming ways to get the GRPD to cooperate with her. Her family had connections in the GRPD from her sister Sadie, a crime scene technician, to Detective Iglesias, a good friend of her brother Griffin. She had to tread lightly because this case was polarizing, and win or lose, she still had to live here when it was done.
Pippa was absolutely certain the real killer was still out there, and she needed to convince the police, but so far no one would speak with her about it. Since taking on the Wentworth case, she’d been dealing with a rash of threats on her office voice mail and one nasty postcard delivered to her home. All par for the course these days when representing an unpopular client. While she logged each incident, she knew a few random threats wouldn’t inspire anyone to take a second look at what appeared to be a solid conviction.
Another death would do it. Her stomach cramped at the thought.
She had been tempted to use her siblings as a sounding board or even ask for some hands-on help. All of them supported and lent their professional expertise to Colton Investigations, the family business investigative agency. But the team had its hands full at the moment, and the press ganging up on her was bad enough. No way would she drag that public relations quicksand closer to her siblings.
The music wasn’t helping anymore. Restless and feeling idle, she cued up a recording of the trial provided by Anna’s defense team and picked up where she’d left off, listening to the smooth, mellow voice of Detective Iglesias on the stand.
She remembered that day in court. He’d worn a charcoal suit and his wavy hair had been brushed back from his face. Short stubble had defined his jaw and the steady confidence in his warm brown eyes never wavered. Not even under cross-examination.
It was easy to understand why the jury had gravitated to him, taking his every word as unassailable truth. Even though Pippa knew better, it was easy to believe his testimony. He’d been the star witness for the prosecution, all but guaranteeing Anna’s conviction.
Her phone suddenly interrupted the flow of his voice, announcing an incoming call. She used the control on her steering wheel to answer. “You’ve reached Pippa Colton. How may I help you?”
“Hi, Pippa. It’s Elizabeth.” Her friend sounded miserable. “I’m sorry to bug you. I just couldn’t wait to hear how it went. Did Mom cooperate?”
More than anything else with this case, Pippa regretted that a mother-daughter relationship, already under pressure, had been nearly destroyed by the trial. Elizabeth and her father had been in the gallery every day to support Anna, but it hadn’t impressed the jury. And Elizabeth’s testimony as a character witness during sentencing had hit a sour note, giving the impression that she was fabricating a few good moments with her mom just for the hope of leniency. Her strident belief in her mother’s innocence came across as too little, too late.
It broke her heart to say it, but she had to be truthful. “I didn’t get to meet with her,” Pippa replied.
“Why not?” The worry in Elizabeth’s voice was sharp as a blade. “Did something happen?”
“Your mom is fine,” Pippa assured her. “They told me it was a system glitch on their end,” she hedged. “I’ll reschedule.”
“So she still doesn’t know I believe her.”
Elizabeth sounded utterly defeated. Pippa had seen this struggle between Elizabeth and her mom practically since day one of their friendship. The Wentworth mansion was impressive for all of the architecture heirlooms and history, but it would never be called a happy home during Anna’s reign.
“She knows it,” Pippa insisted. “You go out there every day.”
“Not today.”
“Well, no.” Because they’d thought one visitor per day was enough. Maybe if Elizabeth had been with her, she would’ve gotten inside. Too late to second-guess things now. “But you’ll be there tomorrow.”
“And every day after until this is over,” Elizabeth agreed.
Pippa swallowed her irritation with the runaround she’d been subjected to. “I’m glad to hear that. You may have to be the go-between right now.” The conversations wouldn’t be protected legally, but she didn’t see another option.
“What do you mean?”
“I think she’s annoyed the guards,” Pippa explained. “Which means they aren’t inclined to do anything that works in her favor. Or mine.”
Elizabeth grumbled. “I’ve warned Mom to cool it.”
Pippa laughed, though the situation wasn’t funny. “You really think your mom is going to listen to anyone right now?”
“A daughter can hope.”
“Agreed,” Pippa said. “I want you to hang on to that hope. I need you to hang on to that hope. Yes, it would be easier if she could find a measure of humility and soon, but I’m not holding my breath. In the meantime, please do what you can to reassure her that the guilty verdict isn’t permanent.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“And if possible, get her talking about Hicks. The man had another enemy, and your mom might not realize she knows who it is.”
“You think he talked to Mom about someone else he was seeing?”
“Probably not, but we have to ask. Maybe he talked with her about other interests. I can’t find any signs that the police looked very closely at anything beyond his relationship with her, but we both know there’s more to the story.”
“I’ll do my best,” Elizabeth repeated.
“Same here,” Pippa vowed, more motivated than ever to speak with Anna. The woman needed to understand how committed Elizabeth was to her mother’s cause. Most likely Anna had never been an easy person. Somewhere along the way she decided that being the wealthy Mrs. Wentworth meant avoiding everything she found uncomfortable or distasteful. She prioritized her idea of perfection over personal relationships, preferring to nurture power and influence rather than people. Having watched all of the heartache and strife through the years, Pippa worried that no one would ever convince Anna how much her daughter loved her.
“You sound so sure of yourself.”
“This is one small setback, that’s all,” Pippa said. Far bigger challenges awaited them.
Overall, Pippa preferred the challenges. An easy sea never made a good sailor. So she had embraced every speed bump and roadblock on the way to her goals. She didn’t mind when people underestimated her focusing on appearances and ignoring her grit and steel spine until it was too late. She considered that her secret advantage.
“I’ll be back in town soon,” Pippa said. “Let me know how it goes with your visit tomorrow.”
“I will. Thanks for everything you’re doing, Pippa.”
The call ended, but Pippa was still unsettled. Since she’d agreed to tackle the task of proving Anna’s innocence, talking with Elizabeth was no longer easy. There was too much weight loading down every conversation. She didn’t regret helping a friend; she just hadn’t expected the burden would be so heavy.
