Free Trial by Fury by K.G. MacGregor Page B

Admittedly, she’d broken from her usual professional protocol with the cheery and personable chitchat, enough that Hank had noticed and interpreted it as flirting.
    Which it was, despite her declaration to Celia that it was a line she couldn’t cross. After their conversation at Sammy’s Pint, she’d gone home and studied the Georgia Bar Association’s guidelines, which she already knew by heart. Dating a witness wasn’t strictly prohibited as long as it didn’t compromise her representation of her client. So why did it feel sleazy?
    “You know what, Hank? Just shut up and drive.”
    They followed the directions on her smartphone, and by late afternoon arrived at a small brick house in Forest Park, a suburban community of small square homes enclosed within chain-link fences. A rusted SUV that looked like it could have been their Suburban’s older brother sat in the driveway.
    A plane roared overhead, leading her to conclude they were directly underneath the flight path for Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport. Probably one of the cheapest neighborhoods in the Greater Atlanta area.
    “Let me do this,” Hank said. His knock on the weathered wooden door brought a throaty bark from inside.
    An old dog, if Theo had to guess, and a big one. She clutched her portfolio to her chest as if it were a shield.
    Jalinda held up her phone. “I assume you want me to record this one too.”
    A yell from inside quieted the eruption and a man answered the door. He was thin and drawn, dressed in gray work pants with a plaid shirt. “You Hank Maloney?” he asked.
    “Sure am. Donald Lipscomb?” Hank stuck out his fat hand for a shake and slipped into his detective persona. “Thanks for meeting with us. As I told you on the phone, we’re working on a case that involves your niece. Your great-niece, I mean. I was hoping we could ask some questions.”
    He introduced Theo as an attorney who was looking into possible legal action, and Jalinda as her assistant.
    “What kind of legal action? They told me she killed herself.”
    Theo girded herself against a possible dog attack and followed him inside, where the stench of cigarette smoke nearly choked her. She passed on the offer of an upholstered chair in favor of a wooden stool he likely used as a side table for his ashtray and beer. The instant she sat down, a gray-bearded black lab began sniffing her feet.
    Watching the dog warily in case it lifted its leg, she asked, “Were you aware your great-niece had reported being raped a month before her suicide?”
    He answered with a look of disgust. “I hadn’t heard that. Do they know who did it?”
    She was careful with the details, doling them out slowly so he’d grasp the horror of Hayley’s death. “Are you a Harwood sports fan, Mr. Lipscomb? Did you happen to see them win their national basketball championship last month?”
    “Watched it right here in this chair,” he said. “Kentucky never knew what hit ’em.”
    “So you recognize these names—Matt Frazier, D’Anthony Caldwell and Tanner Watson.” She waited for his nod. “They’re the ones who raped her. We’re absolutely certain. We acquired a video they made while they were doing it. All three of them were laughing and talking about Hayley like she was a slut. They wanted to show it to their friends and brag about it.”
    “She was unconscious, Don,” Hank chimed in, leaning forward as if to emphasize they were talking man to man. “They slipped her a Mickey that made her pass out, and then they took turns with her. One of them even used her phone to take a picture of her without her clothes when they were done. When she came to, she went to call for help and that picture was staring back at her. Can you imagine what kind of low-life does something like that to a girl?”
    Lipscomb’s fists curled and released as his agitation grew, and his knee began to bounce. “What’s going to happen to them?”
    “That could be up to you,” Theo said calmly.