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Savannah didn’t believe it either, and she didn’t want to try to explain something she didn’t understand. “You’ll need to talk to him for more details.”
“Oh, I will! Does he have an opinion on who’s done it? If it’s been done, which I highly doubt.”
“Um, he says you created the account, Jess. I don’t believe that, of course. But someone seems to have gone to great trouble to implicate you. Beckett can tell you more.”
Her eyes widened. “Did he actually believe I’d do something like that?”
“He said he checked with the bank, and the person had presented documents claiming to be you.”
“I’ll get to the bottom of this! They surely have a copy of the ID and any other proof the thief used in my name. I guess I should be grateful Beckett saw something so I can put an end to it and figure out what’s going on here.” Jess’s expression turned thoughtful. “Could Abernathy have been involved? Maybe there’s a connection with his murder. Will Hez tell the police what your little investigative group has uncovered?”
“I—I assume so, but we haven’t talked about it.”
Wasn’t Jess worried the police might turn their attention to her? Savannah couldn’t let that happen. While she wanted the police to realize she was innocent, she didn’t want her sister to come under scrutiny in her place. She’d have to check with Hez and see what he thought.
Chapter 18
Hez walked into his office after class and found a voice mail and three missed calls on his phone. He tossed his notes on the well-used plywood desk he’d been given and hit the Play button. A deep male voice boomed from a staticky speaker. “Hez! It’s Don Hale from the U.S. Attorney’s Office. Glad to see you filed an appearance in the Morales case—it’s been too long since we worked together. Give me a call when you get this. There’s a little scheduling hiccup we need to discuss ASAP.”
All three missed calls came from the same number, presumably Hale’s. And all three had come while Hez was in class. Hale must really want to talk.
Hez sighed. Don Hale—often called “the Whale” behind his back—was a large man with an even larger ego. He won a string of high-profile mafia and drug cartel cases in the early 2000s, which convinced him he was the best lawyer in any courtroom he walked into. When Hez worked with him on a couple of joint state-federal cases, he’d treated Hez like a junior associate. When Hez put together a very good plea deal resolving one of the cases, Hale had called a press conference to announce “his” victory—and he hadn’t mentioned Hez, of course.
The phone rang again. Same number. Hez plopped into his office chair and picked up the receiver. “Hi, Don. What can I do for you?”
“Hez! Good to hear your voice. Hey, on this Morales case, could you do me a favor and waive the preliminary hearing? It’s set for next Tuesday, and I’ve had a conflict come up.”
It was a routine request, but something felt a little off. In fact, something felt off about the whole case. Hez decided to push for more information. “I can work with you on scheduling, but I’d like to see what you have on Morales. When are you going to actually indict him?”
“We’re working on it.”
“Great, but when will I see the indictment?”
“When we’re done and the grand jury issues it. Hez, don’t give me a hard time about this.” His voice had the tone of a teacher warning a mouthy student.
Hez wasn’t about to back down. “You can’t just hold Morales in jail until you get around to indicting him. If you can’t show probable cause, you have to let him go. A prelim sets a deadline for you to do that. I’m not just going to waive it without more.”
“I know what a prelim does,” Hale snapped. “You’ve got the complaint. That tells you all you need to know.”
“No, it doesn’t. It’s a bare-bones copy-and-paste job with a boilerplate affidavit that doesn’t even identify the drugs. I want to see the evidence backing it up. If Tuesday doesn’t work for you, how about Wednesday? And if that doesn’t work, why not have someone cover the hearing for you—or better yet, just get the indictment?”
“Look, Hez, read the complaint again. I’ve got confidential witnesses saying there’s a smuggling operation and that there was supposed to be a delivery coming in by boat at 1:00 a.m. on the night of September third. Your guy showed up at 1:00 a.m. on the night of September third in a boat, and he was acting exactly like a cartel smuggler—no lights, he ran when the Coast Guard showed up, and he threw something overboard. Sounds like Sinaloa, don’t you think? That’s enough to show probable cause. Forcing us all to go through a prelim will just tick off me and the judge.”
Hale might be right, but there were weird gaps in the complaint, like the failure to identify the drugs Morales was supposedly smuggling. And if Hale was so sure he could show probable cause, why not just put his evidence in front of a grand jury and get an indictment? That would be easier for him and would automatically cancel the prelim. Something was off, and Hez’s Spidey-sense was tingling. “Sorry, Don. I guess I’ll be seeing you in court on Tuesday.”
“You’re gonna regret this,” Hale growled. He hung up without waiting for Hez’s response.
Hez stared at the phone, wondering if Hale was right.
* * *
Grading papers had turned into a chore, especially on a Friday when Savannah would rather be at the pregame rally like everyone else. She usually enjoyed seeing her students’ fresh perspectives on discovering history, but she kept tensing with every new sheet she pulled from the stack in case she ran across more provenance papers. Abernathy’s death had rattled her even more, and it felt like the entire university held its breath while waiting for the next shoe to drop.
She rubbed her aching neck and stared out the window toward the lights of the football field. Her first date with Hez had been to a football game, and he’d kissed her that night with the taste of butter and popcorn still on his lips. She touched her lips and smiled. For the first time a seed of hope unfurled and pushed its way to the surface. Was there any chance of a reconciliation?
The sun had begun to fall past the tops of the tupelo trees on the horizon. The campus felt deserted with most students at the game. One more paper and she’d head for coffee and some food. Hunger twisted in her stomach.
“Knock knock,” a male voice announced.
