easy. It almost wasn’t even fun.
“What do they have, then?”
“It’s turning into a clusterfuck over there.” His gaze lingered on her mouth for a few seconds more. “No doubt they’re trying to find DNA and trace that will tie you to the murders of those homeless women. But if they haven’t found anything yet, they’re not going to. From what my sources are telling me, they’re not even finding any of Ethan’s DNA. He took great care to be clean, I’ll grant him that. So our focus is on Diana St. Clair.”
“And the professor’s testimony?”
Borden waved a manicured hand. “Sheila Tao won’t testify, I’ll see to that. Anything she has to say about you is hearsay. She was locked in Ethan’s basement for three weeks and nothing he said to her can be corroborated, so don’t concern yourself with her.”
Sheila Tao . The mere mention of the bitch made Abby want to scratch Borden’s eyes out, just because he was there.
She kept her face composed. “So I continue to sit here androt while we wait for the trial to start, and in the meantime the prosecuting attorney is still trying to pin the homeless women’s murders on me. It’s really not looking good for me now, is it, Bob? I’m already in for nine years because you said that was the best you could do.”
“It was, Abby. And it won’t be nine years, trust me. You’ll be out in four for good behavior, and since you’ve already served a year, that’s only three years left.” Borden’s smile was an attempt at reassurance. “It’ll pass in no time.”
The arrogant sonofabitch. Anybody in here could tell you that jail time was not quick time. The year Abby had spent in here already felt like ten.
“Actually, that’s why I’m here this morning.” The attorney folded his hands together. “There’s been an interesting development.”
“Tell me already.” Abby worked at keeping her voice soft. “Or do you want me to beg?”
Borden’s ruddy face turned a deeper shade of red. He adjusted his tie even though it didn’t need adjusting. “A dead body turned up this morning at the Sweet Chariot Inn in downtown Seattle. It’s an upscale boutique hotel, pricey but small. Adult female, twenties, Caucasian. The cops are coming to talk to you about it. My contacts at Seattle PD gave me the heads-up.”
He’d thrown in that last line just so she’d know how well connected he was. As if she didn’t already know all about him. Abby knew more about her attorney than he’d ever realize. She knew that his kids were Jessica, Christian, and Hunter, ages seventeen, fifteen, and twelve respectively. She knew his wife was named Natasha, and that she was forty-six, and that she was fucking their Mercedes mechanic. Abby might be in prison, but she knew everything she needed to know about Bob Borden.
“The police are coming to talk to me about a dead body? Which has what to do with me?” Abby raised an eyebrow and gestured to her prison attire. “Look where I am. They can’t possibly think I killed her.”
“Of course not.” Borden glanced up at the ceiling, as if to reassure himself that there were no cameras in here. There weren’t, but his voice dropped, anyway. “But is there any chance you know who did?”
Abby leaned back in her chair, appraising her attorney. “Interesting question. What was the victim’s name?”
“Brenda Stich. College student. She had more than a passing physical resemblance to you.”
Abby cocked her head. “And it grows curiouser and curiouser.”
“The name ring any bells?”
“Not remotely.” Abby drummed her fingers on the table impatiently. “Is this really what you came here to ask me, Bob? I live in a six-by-nine cell surrounded by guards all day. What could I possibly know about a murder?”
“I do have a reason for asking.” Borden continued to watch her intently. “It seems your name was found at the scene, carved into the dead girl’s body. I’m told the exact words were ‘Free