Dead Even - Mariah Stewart [3]
“Shooting my wife, among other things.”
It was the other things that had bothered Lowell. What kind of a person could put a gun to the head of a little boy who was sleeping in his bed, and pull the trigger? And hadn’t it been two little boys . . . ?
The thought made his stomach hurt.
Archer looked up just in time to see some sort of odd exchange between Channing and Giordano. Though no words were spoken, there had been something there, and Lowell wondered if the men were telepathic. He’d heard about such things, about people who could read other people’s minds. He watched the two men warily. The whole idea gave him the creeps.
“Did you?” Channing was asking Giordano.
Uh-oh, Lowell thought. Obviously Channing had absolutely no idea who Giordano was. Otherwise he wouldn’t be asking a convicted murderer—a child killer, for Christ’s sake—if he did it. He held his breath, waiting to see what Giordano would do.
Giordano smirked.
“Then why would they overturn your conviction?” Channing asked, as if his question had been answered in the affirmative.
That telepathic stuff again? Lowell wondered.
Giordano began to explain how all of the evidence presented against him at trial had been fabricated by one of the cops, and that his lawyer was going to prove it.
“They can let you off for that?” Lowell was drawn back into the conversation. “If somebody lies?”
“Yup,” Giordano said smugly.
“But don’t they just try you all over again?” Lowell began to ponder the possibility of getting someone to lie at his upcoming trial.
“Nope,” Giordano was telling him. “My lawyer says they can’t do it. First time around, the D.A., he was out to get me. Loaded the charges, every fucking thing he could think of.” Giordano chuckled. “Imagine his surprise when he found out that the cop he’d built his case around had lied from day one.”
“How do they know for sure he lied?” Archer asked.
“Because he shot his mouth off, admitted that he’d lied about seeing me running from the house that day, lied about everything. Wanted to make sure the charges stuck, he said. Now he’s facing perjury charges. Guess crime doesn’t pay, huh?”
“What’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get out, Vince?” Lowell couldn’t help but admire Giordano in a perverse sort of way. Here he was, a convicted killer of three innocent people, and he was apparently about to walk. What was not to admire in being able to beat a rap like that?
“Depends on whether or not I’d get caught.”
“What if you wouldn’t?” Lowell said.
“What, wouldn’t get caught?”
“Yeah. What if you could do anything—anything at all—and not get caught?”
“Gotta think on that a minute.” Giordano appeared to be giving the question some heavy consideration before lowering his voice. “If I could get away with it, I’d put a bullet through the head of my former mother-in-law.” His face began to darken. “And then I’d do that woman—the advocate—who worked for the courts and told the judge to take my kids away from me. And then the judge who said I couldn’t see my kids no more.”
Lowell shifted nervously in his seat and prayed that Giordano wouldn’t wig out, the way he looked like he was about to do, and bring half the sheriff’s department into the room.
“Where are your kids now?” Channing asked.
“They’re with their mother,” Giordano said, looking Channing directly in the eye. After a long moment of staring coldly, he turned to Archer and asked, “How ’bout you? What would you do, if you could do anything and not get caught doing it?”
“I don’t know,” Lowell said, surprised to have the question turned back on him. He hadn’t given it any thought until that very moment. “Maybe . . . maybe that guy, that guy who kept bothering my girl. Maybe him, if he’s still around. And maybe that friend of hers, the nosy bitch . . .”
Archer Lowell felt a burning build within, slowly at first, as he thought about the woman who owned the antique shop across from Amanda’s. The one who called the police every time she saw Archer in the neighborhood. What business was it of hers if he’d wanted to wait