Malpractice Makes Perfect

Chapter 21

          If I was going to accuse anyone of murder, I would need concrete proof. But as of now, Diana's cause of death was cancer and my investigation was pretty much over. I had the pictures of the documents from the desk in Diana's office but all that did was prove bribery of a judge. And bribery was wrong, but it was the murder that concerned me more.

          That, and the forty-million-dollar necklace which was currently picking up dust in the bottom of my purse but that could wait a couple days.

          The only way I was going to prove the murder was with a confession...

          On lunch, I excused myself to my office and stared at the landline while I mentally practiced what I was going to say. When I was ready, I grabbed the phone and dialed Robert's office. All nervous energy concentrated at the tips of my fingers as they tapped out a song without melody while I waited.

          When I heard his receptionist's voice, some of the tension left my shoulders. "Robert Davis's office." She said.

          "Hi. Uh, I need to speak with Robert."

          "Speaking?"

          "Evie Harper. A business associate."

          "Hold, please."

          She left me spinning my wheels to a recording of some classic music I'd heard a million times but couldn't name.

          What if this didn't work? Then what would I do? Give up? Maybe. But I could at least pass the info to Alexis and Destiny first.

          That's if this didn't work.

          When she got back to me, she patched me through. My voice was impressively steady. "Hello, Robert."

          "To what do I owe the pleasure?" He sounded just as arrogant as always. That annoyed me.

         "I've made some headway in my latest investigation."

          "Oh?"

          "Yeah. I found some evidence I think you'll be interested in."

          He snorted out a hearty chuckle. "I highly doubt that."

          "It has to do with a gentleman named George Whitney. Have you heard of him?"

          Hearing the judge's name changed something in his tone. The line seemed to go colder the longer the silence stretched. " ...Perhaps."

          "Well anyway, I was wondering if you would like to discuss your options."

          "Options?"

          "I seem to have come into some checks with Judge Whitney's name on them. On top of that they were signed by a known associate of yours."

          I could practically hear his soul sighing. "What are these options?"

            "I think the bidding should start at about five million dollars. That's not too high is it? Option B is me sending this bit of info to the cops."

          "How do I know your proof is legit?"

          "How about a picture?"

           After working out a method of retrieval (a simple Gmail account), I emailed him the pictures I'd snapped of the checks and hoped like hell he wouldn't work out where I'd taken them.

          After a tense ten minutes of emailing the evidence that could send him away for a very long time, he came back on the line with all arrogance forgotten. "Five million? And you keep your mouth closed?"