Black and Blueberry Die (A Fresh-Baked Mystery Book 11) Read Online Free PDF Page A

always suppressed the impulse to urge him to take better care of himself. She doubted if it would do any good, anyway.
    “So,” D’Angelo said. “Danny Jackson. I understand that you’re acquainted with him.”
    “I’ve known Danny for more than twenty years,” Phyllis said. “He and my son Mike have been friends since they were in junior high together.”
    “I never met the young fella myself,” Sam said. “I’ve heard a lot about him, though.”
    “I got a call from him yesterday afternoon. I went over to Fort Worth to see him, and he asked me to handle his appeal.”
    That confirmed Phyllis’s hunch. She said, “Have you taken the case?”
    “To be honest with you, I haven’t made up my mind yet. Murder cases are a real challenge, and I like a challenge. They can be good publicity, too. But they can get awfully ugly.” D’Angelo shrugged. “I got a feeling this one might. But I’m interested enough I decided to do two things. One of ’em is talking to you.”
    “I’m sure Mike gave Danny your name, if that’s what you’re wondering about,” Phyllis said. “He knows we worked with you on those other cases.”
    “And he wants you to help his friend, right?” D’Angelo said. “I’m guessing here, but that makes sense to me.”
    Phyllis nodded and said, “He came to see me and talked to me about Danny yesterday afternoon. He’s convinced that Danny didn’t kill his wife.”
    “You said you’d done two things,” Sam put in. “What’s the second one?”
    D’Angelo tapped a blunt fingertip on a stack of papers on his desk and said, “I got a copy of the trial transcript faxed over from the Tarrant County DA’s office. Care to take a look through it, Mrs. Newsom?”
    Phyllis hadn’t been able to stop herself from leaning forward slightly when D’Angelo mentioned the transcript. She knew he could tell she was eager to find out what it contained, so there was no point in denying that.
    “Yes, I’d like to.”
    D’Angelo pushed the papers toward her.
    “Why don’t you take it in the conference room and look through it?” he suggested. “I have a few other things to take care of this morning. We can talk when you’ve finished with it.”
    “All right,” Phyllis said.
    They knew where the conference room was from their previous visits to the office. Phyllis gathered up the transcript, which made a surprisingly thin sheaf of papers. But then, from what she’d read and been told, the trial had been short and simple.
    The conference room was behind massive oak double doors. Inside was a long, gleaming hardwood table with heavy wooden chairs around it. The walls were dark wood, decorated with framed portraits of the firm’s partners and some landscapes. The thick carpet helped muffle sound and gave the big room a hushed atmosphere, almost like a church.
    Phyllis and Sam sat down side by side at the table. Phyllis began reading the transcript, passing each sheet to Sam as she finished it. She valued his opinion about these cases, and sometimes he spotted things that she had missed.
    Trial transcripts made for pretty dull reading, she discovered. There was a lot of what amounted to boilerplate at the beginning: jury selection, reading of the charge, opening statements.
    Then came the meat of what she was looking for—the testimony of the witnesses called by the prosecution, beginning with the Fort Worth police officer who had responded to Danny Jackson’s 911 call about finding his wife bloody and unresponsive.
    Danny had been cooperative, but in a shocked, disoriented state. An ambulance had arrived within minutes of the officer, and the EMTs had quickly determined that Roxanne Jackson was dead on the scene. Homicide detectives had been summoned, along with a forensics unit. Danny was isolated within the building from the crime scene and held for questioning.
    That interrogation had established Roxanne and Danny’s identities, where they worked, and where they had been that day.