For Just Cause

“Only because you don’t want to.” Claudia sat down on the adjacent station, so he would have to see her face. “Daniel says he offered to promote you to senior investigator, and you turned him down.” And why was that? Claudia wondered. What normal man didn’t want to be promoted, get a better title, a bigger paycheck and more prestige? But she didn’t ask aloud. This meeting wasn’t about making Billy uncomfortable.

“I like things the way they are.”

Claudia sighed elaborately. “All right. I’ll just have to tell Mary-Francis that you’re too busy building muscles to save her life.”

Billy let the weights drop with a clang. “Now, wait a minute. I’m not just goofing off here. I’m on my lunch hour. Anyway, part of a cop’s job is to stay in shape.”

“You’re not a cop. And if you’re not working in the field, if the heaviest thing you lift is a phone—”

“I work in the field.”

“Then come with me to interview Mary-Francis. C’mon, Billy, don’t make me beg. You don’t have to commit to the case. Just commit to the one interview. If it pans out, maybe Daniel will reconsider and assign it to someone else.”

“You’re not leaving me much choice,” he groused as he resumed his reps. His thighs had muscles on muscles, and she had to force her gaze away.

“I never intended to. A woman’s life, Billy.”

“All right. One interview. But Mary-Francis better wow me. And just for the record? I’m not crazy about shrinks.”

“All shrinks? Or me in particular?”

“Let’s just say I’m a skeptic of your particular skill, and leave it at that.”

She did her best not to show how insulted she felt. Most people, even cops, were impressed by her skills, or at least politely curious. “Fair enough. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve set up the visit with Mary-Francis.”

* * *

A ROAD TRIP WITH A BEAUTIFUL blonde sounded like heaven to Billy Cantu—unless the blonde spent four hours straight studying him like a particularly fascinating species of toe fungus.

“I know I’m good-lookin’,” Billy finally said, “but do you think you could stop staring at me for five minutes?”

“Oh. Sorry.” Claudia turned to look out the windshield at the parched midsummer fields. “It’s an occupational habit.”

“It’s also kinda rude. I mean, when women stare at me, I want to at least pretend it’s because they’re trying to get inside my pants—not my brain.”

“I don’t want to be either place, thanks,” she said tartly, and Billy grinned. A quick glance told him she was blushing.

“You’ve been awful quiet,” Billy said. “How about you give me some more background on this woman we’re going to see? I read the court transcript, but you must know stuff that’s not public.”

Claudia had a transcript in her lap, but she’d spent more time covertly studying Billy than looking at her notes. Maybe she’d thought he wouldn’t notice, but he had excellent peripheral vision.

This interview was a waste of time. But Daniel wanted him to check it out, so here he was. Daniel had built Project Justice from the ground up and continued to choose which cases they took on. Apparently he trusted Claudia’s opinion that Mary-Francis was innocent. Or he at least didn’t want to offend her.

Billy preferred to work behind the scenes, supporting the other investigators. But lately Daniel had been pushing him out the door more and more.

“Mary-Francis isn’t the most likable woman I’ve ever met,” Claudia said. “She never should have taken the stand in her own defense.”

“I’ll say. The cross-examination was a bloodbath.”

“And yet…I still believe she’s telling the truth. Not about everything, maybe—but about not killing her husband, yes.”

“Obviously, or you wouldn’t have brought the case to Project Justice.” As a psychologist on retainer with the foundation, she didn’t normally bring in cases. She interviewed witnesses or analyzed interrogation or trial video. She was a nationally recognized expert on body language.

Which, if anyone asked Billy, was all a bunch of hooey.

Since nobody asked, he listened politely as she went through her notes. “Anytime she was questioned whether she knew where her husband was, or whether she’d killed him, or if she knew someone else had killed him, her body and face indicated her answers were truthful. If she were lying, her body would show more stress. But her shoulders were relaxed, her eyes wide and animated, her voice confident. However, she wasn’t always truthful. She lied about some things.”

“Like what?”

“Like her marriage. She tried to pretend everything was fine, that she and her husband were deeply in love. But any time that subject came up, she would pull her head in like a turtle and hide her hands in her lap. In fact, whenever anyone raised their voice or tried to intimidate her, she showed the classic body language of an abuse victim.”

A squirrel darted out into the road. Billy swerved to miss it.

Claudia squeaked and grabbed on to the door. “God, Billy! What the hell are you doing?”

“Trying not to hit a squirrel.”

“Oh. That shows great compassion. But I’d prefer one dead squirrel to a head-on with a semi.”

“It was a reflex.” He didn’t like her assigning a motive to his actions. Great compassion. For a squirrel? Really? But he had a lot of hours to spend with her, and he didn’t want to spend them arguing.

“So,” he continued, “you’re telling me someone does an imitation of a turtle, they’re lying?”

Claudia released the door handle and seemed to gather her composure around her. “That was one of many signs that she felt threatened when certain subjects were broached. Each person is different, though. I have to observe a subject for some length of time to get a baseline of their usual body language, then note when that changes—”

“Yeah, okay.”

“You don’t believe me?”

He shrugged, unwilling to tell her what he really thought about hocus-pocus disguised as science. He much preferred the old-fashioned method of catching someone in a lie—breaking them down with tough interrogation.

“What I do is legitimate science, backed up by scores of studies—”

“Really, you don’t have to convince me. It’s not essential for me to understand your work to do my job, is it?”

“Well, no.”

“You just want me to interrogate Mary-Francis so she’ll tell us about this supposed new evidence, and you’ll observe.”

“Interrogate is rather a strong word. I don’t want you to put too much pressure on her. It could completely shut her down or cause her to end the interview.”

“Hmm.” He had his own way of questioning a suspect, a way that usually worked, honed by his experience with the Dallas Police Department. He’d have to play it by ear. “Any idea what this evidence is?”

“Only that it’s something shocking. But whatever it is, I want you to evaluate it from a cop’s point of view.”

“That means I ask hard questions.”

“I know. Just don’t bully her, or her stressed-out body language will override everything else.”