Free The Hard Fall by Brenda Chapman Page A

find,” Jada said mildly. Her black eyes met mine.
    “We don’t think the investigator tried hard enough,” Rosie said. Her eyes flashed. “My client has agreed to pay a higher fee. His money won’t be worth anything to him if he gets life.”
    “Not many places to spend a fortune in Sing Sing,” I agreed. “So what kind of money are we talking?” I could have pussy footed around and waited for her to state an amount. But it was late and I was tired.
    “Seven hundred a day and a bonus fifty thousand if you find something to get him off.”
    Jada whistled. “We’ll take it . . . I mean, Anna will take on the case. We can’t promise results, though.”
    I shot Jada a “thanks a lot” stare, but I didn’t say anything. We had to make money or we’d lose our office. And we had to have an office to run a PI business. The law was clear on that.
    Rosie’s face relaxed into a smile. “Great. I have a contract ready. I also copied a list of facts and witnesses for you.” She whipped a stack of paper out of her briefcase before we could change our minds. She set it on the desk and handed me a pen. “Paul is being held in the detention centre without bail. He’s expecting you early tomorrow morning. We have a week before the trial begins. We’ll need something before then to prove his innocence.”
    “No problem,” I said. “I’m sure . . .”
    Jada met my eyes. The shake of her head made me close my mouth before I said the rest. It didn’t stop me from thinking it, though.
    . . . there are some flying pigs out there somewhere.

CHAPTER TWO
    I drove through side streets until I reached the Parkway, which ran next to the canal. If it had still been light, I would have been treated to fall colours in all their glory: red, yellow, and orange leaves against a deep blue sky. Now, I saw only dark tree trunks and street lights shining off the river of black water. I found this route to Dad’s house in Alta Vista soothing after a tiring day. The long, winding drive gave me time to think.
    Like the rest of Ottawa, I had followed the Paul Taylor murder case on the nightly news. Katie and Paul were the closest thing Ottawa had to the rich and famous. Paul was a well-off business man and city councillor. He was married to Katie Taylor, a once-famous model from New York City. They lived in a big house in Rockcliffe and travelled in all the best circles. A charmed life, that is until six months ago when their maid found neighbour Laura Flint dead in their king-sized bed.
    Turns out Laura and Paul Taylor had been having an affair. The papers suggested that he tried to end it that fateful August morning, and Laura threatened to tell Katie. From all accounts, Paul went into a rage and killed poor Laura Flint by smothering her with a pillow. He’d then put on clean clothes and joined his friends for a round of golf.
    The papers reported that Katie was visiting her mother in Toronto at the time of the murder. Paul was arrested and put in jail awaiting trial. The police could find no other suspects. His high-powered friends slipped away. The mayor put him on temporary leave until his name was cleared. Nobody expected him to be back. The Taylor name was quietly removed from his business. The only one to stand by him was his wife Katie. The reporters urged her to drop her cold-blooded, killer husband. She refused. Everyone figured that Katie would dump him when she came to her senses. The public agreed that until then, she deserved our pity.
    And now, I was going to try to find evidence to set free the most hated man in the city.
    * * *
     
    I pulled into Dad’s driveway twenty minutes later. I sat for a moment in the dark. I could see Dad’s bowed head in the lamplight through the front window. He had on his reading glasses and was sitting in his favourite leather chair. I imagined he was reading a history book about one war or another. He’d spent thirty-five years in the armed forces and loved reading about past conflicts.