But as I entered my office, the quiet of the empty building surrounding me, I finally took a full and deep breath. Okay. I might not be able to steer much in life right now, but I could investigate Aiden’s case. This, at least, was under my control.
I grabbed a newspaper off the floor, wincing at the front-page picture of Nick with his arm around me at Scot’s house. We looked pretty friendly.
Wonderful. All I needed was that type of gossip.
I started with some misdemeanor case files just to get into the flow of litigation. Two minor burglaries, several drug charges, and a trespass case. All pretty easy to schedule and plan. My guess was that only the trespass case defendant would go to trial and the others would plea out.
Then I opened the too thin case file for Aiden Devlin, and my heart rate automatically quickened. I’m not sure what I was magically hoping to find, but the only documents secured inside were the arrest warrant and the Notice of Arraignment sent from the court. No notes on why or how Aiden was arrested, no trial plan, no evidentiary documents. Only ineligible notes on one piece of yellow legal paper that had been ripped unevenly off the pad. No wonder I hadn’t been able to decipher it in the stressful situation of District Court. Swirls and clouds all attached by jagged lines from a pen that had apparently lost most of its ink.
And now Scot was dead.
I bit my lip and squinted, trying to understand the odd diagram.
It looked like ‘ice cream’ was in the center cloud. What legal words looked like ‘ice cream?’ I couldn’t think of any, and now I was hungry.
Scot had scrawled Aiden’s name and phone number at the top left corner. Since it appeared that Aiden hadn’t hired an attorney as of yet, that made sense. Scot could speak directly with Aiden.
As could I.
At the realization, I leaned back in my chair. It made no sense for Aiden to talk to me, and in fact was an incredibly bad idea for him to do so, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t ask. First, I had to figure out what was going on. They taught us in law school to never ask a question in court that we didn’t know the answer to, and this wasn’t court, but I still needed some sort of background before I could talk to the defendant. Or maybe I just wasn’t ready to see him again.
I leaned over and studied the paper closer. A barely legible scrawl on the bottom right corner caught my attention. I frowned and partially turned the paper, squinting to read better. The name took shape, coming together like a Captiva Code on a website.Melvin Whitaker.
Wait a minute. I lifted my head and shut my eyes, trying to attach facts in my brain. Why would Melvin Whitaker’s name be on notes in Aiden’s case file? Whitaker supposedly had supplied the pot that Randy Taylor had been caught with and that the elderly ladies had been trying to find.
Just who was this guy? The connection for every drug case in the darn county?
The DEA had gone through my computer, and having found nothing, they’d left it in place, unlike Scot’s. Leaning over to type on my keyboard that unfortunately was missing the S, I conducted a criminal defendant search for Melvin Whitaker. Nothing. No arrests, no records whatsoever. Not even a parking ticket. Huh. Well.
Then I went through the database to find investigators who contracted with the prosecuting attorney’s office. While we worked with the police on every case, I wouldn’t mind an outside source on this one. I found the number for one of the Lugi uncles, who were distant cousins on my dad’s side and had been PI’s for years. I left a message asking for investigations into Melvin Whitaker, Randy Taylor, and Aiden Devlin.
Then I sat back in my chair and tried to reason through the last couple of days.
Indecision didn’t feel good, so I shifted through the case files on my desk and found Thelma Mullen’s folder and took a quick note of her address. Melvin lived right next door, so maybe I should actually do my job and start investigating these drug cases. The very least I could do would be a drive-by, and since the sun was finally not hiding behind June cloud cover, why the heck not?
Then, taking a deep breath, I called the one person I really didn’t want to talk to.
“Pierce.” Even the detective’s phone answering voice sounded cranky.
“Um, Hi. It’s Anna Albertini.” My voice sounded way too hesitant. “The DEA took most of our records, and I don’t have a casefile on Aiden Devlin. I don’t have even one document to use in prosecuting him.”
Detective Pierce was quiet for all of two beats. “Don’t you talk to each other over there?”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Basanelli already called earlier this morning, and I put him in contact with the DEA drug task force. He should have everything we have by mid-day, including all of the information on the Lordes.”
Oh. I closed my eyes and winced hard enough my nose hurt. Of course. “Lords? Who are they?”
Pierce’s sigh was forceful enough, I swear my ear burned. “Lordes with an e. They’re a motorcycle gang located north of Spokane that deals in drugs, guns, and everything else. Aiden is a Defender.”
A Defender? Episodes fromSons of Anarchyran through my mind. “Motorcycle Gang or Club?” I asked, my voice shaking again. Darn it.
“What’s the difference?” Pierce snapped.
The difference was that one has sexy tough guys with muscles and hot bikes. The other killed people. “How long has Aiden been in this, ah, group?” I asked.
“Long enough, Ms. Albertini. It’s your job to put him away, and you should remember that. He’s a bad guy among really bad guys.”
