Page 19 of I’ll Be Watching You

“Do not fear.”

How could he be so calm?

Ava rubbed her forehead, the low-grade ache that started during her fight with Margo growing into a throbbing pain. She had a thirty-five-year career as a lawyer. She had been a prosecutor and faced men and women who committed heinous crimes, and she fearlessly put them behind bars. She was the county attorney who oversaw the entire justice system in Maricopa County for six years. And she had been a private practice lawyer, helping those the system couldn’t or didn’t help. She had stood strong. Always. For everyone. For justice.

And she couldn’t stand for her husband? Her family? She had felt helpless when Cooper confessed, but worse now. Losing her family would destroy her.

“Come with us tomorrow?” she asked Rafe hopefully.

“You don’t need me.”

“I do,” she pleaded.

Rafe was eighteen years her junior. She left for college the month before he was born. She was the oldest of seven kids, Rafe the youngest. Yet right now, she didn’t feel old or wise or brave. She was looking to her little brother for answers, for hope, for a guarantee that come tomorrow, her life as she knew it would not end. That her children would survive and still love her.

“Do you want me there for support or to be a buffer with Margo?”

She frowned. “Both?”

He smiled, patted her hand, stood. “You, Cooper, and Margo need to talk. Not me. But after, I’ll be here for you.”

“Can she forgive us?”

“I’ve found that God is more forgiving than people, but Margo loves you and Cooper very much. I will remind her of that if she needs a reminder.”

Chapter Six

Margo Angelhart

I paced the length of the living room as I told Cal everything. Every lead, every failure over the last three and a half years. Mostly, there were dead ends. Sharing with someone who didn’t question or judge felt cathartic.

I’d never told anyone, not even Uncle Rafe, everything I’d done since Dad went to prison. Until now. Cal sat on my couch and just listened to me half rant as I questioned and second-guessed what I’d done and learned.

I’d dug through every file, every rumor, every name connected to the VA, searching for proof that my father was innocent, or, God help me, guilty. But there was nothing. No footage from the wing where my father found Dr. Klein’s body and called 911 while trying to save his life. Few people had been around that late at night, and no one I could question. The police would never have charged Dad because there was no evidence against him—except that he confessed. And gave them the murder weapon.

How the hell did he have the murder weapon? I said as much to Cal, but didn’t wait for him to respond before explaining that no one the police interviewed had heard a gunshot. There was likely a suppressor on the gun, but my father didn’t turn in a suppressor. I’d read the police report over and over until I could practically quote it verbatim. They had never asked him if he used a suppressor.

And then I launched into the years of dead ends, years where I did little for Dad because I had other cases and no real leads . . . until I found Georgia Rollins working in Tucson. I told him about the wild-goose chase she’d sent me on.

I told him about waiting for Liz Swanson to show up, how I sensed something was wrong when she was late, the emergency vehicles that my gut screamed were for her. By the time I recounted the conversation with my father and the fight with my mother, I was physically drained and emotionally exhausted.

“We’re going to the prison tomorrow morning,” I said. “I don’t know if my dad is going to tell me the truth, or keep his mouth shut. Not knowing is worse than anything. Hell, I’d almost prefer he just tell me he killed Dr. Klein and why, then make me believe it!”

I didn’t tell Cal I felt guilty for everything that had happened today. But somehow he knew anyway.

“None of this is your fault, Margo,” he said.

“I’m not so sure,” I muttered. “The timing of Liz’s conversation with Georgia is after I talked to her, I’m almost certain, but I have nothing to back that up. Was it an accidental meeting? Or did Georgia seek her out? If I’d left it alone—never found Georgia, never pressed her for information—Liz might still be alive.”

“Really?” Cal’s voice sharpened; I was surprised to hear the anger. “Because Liz might’ve told someone else about the suspicious records. Or maybe she was killed not for calling you but for accessing the file that disappeared.”

What he said made sense, but I wasn’t ready to let go of the guilt.

I stared out into the dark backyard. The only light came from the white bulbs strung along the edge of the patio. My reflection in the window looked like a ghost. What had I missed? Because I had to have missed something. The truth was out there, but I couldn’t see it.

“My mom,” I said quietly, sighed and rubbed my eyes.

Cal didn’t push as I worked through more emotions than I expected.